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I 

'‘O 


Blindfold 


By the same Author 

Young Mr. Gibbs 
Dregs 

The Light Above the Cross Roads 

The Frantic Boast 

The Fire of Green Boughs 

The House of Courage 

Cathy Rossiter 

A Reckless Puritan 

A Fool’s Errand 

The Story of the Munsters 


Blindfold 

by Mrs. Victor Rickard 



Jonathan Cape 
Eleven Gower Street, London 


First published 1922 
All rights reserved 



JUN -5 1922^ 


Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner, Frame and London 

©Ci,Alut4456 


Dedicated to 

MAUD VILLIERS-STUART 


Have you ever zurafped truth in your cloak P 
Have you ever spat scorn at a threat? 

Have you ever seen flames in the smoke 
From the ash of your white cigarette ? 

Be still.) His a dream I have dreamed 
Of shadows and flickering breath) 

Of skeleton fingers and chill) 

Of far away) far away death. 


B. M. 


chapter i 

T he future of Kate Huntingdon had been decided 
for her, as it is for most of us, when she was 
a small and not altogether beautiful baby, entirely 
unconscious of everything except the need for food 
and sleep. There was no family conclave, nor did 
wise people put their heads together, but things hap- 
pened in the world into which she had been born. 
For one thing, her father, Francis Huntingdon, went 
off to paint the Continent red, and for another, her 
mother, who had more than enough of life, gave up 
the struggle quite suddenly, and died in the house 
of her sister Laura Maxwell. 

All the sorrow and distress, the gloom of the 
funeral and the heavy depression consequent upon 
Clare Huntingdon having escaped out of her life, 
made no impression whatever upon her small daughter, 
nor was she aware of the arrival of her father who, 
with his usual unpunctuality, made his appearance a 
week after his wife’s death, wept over her grave in 
the little churchyard at Clanmore, and went away 
again, furiously angry because Clare had tied up her 
money so that he could not touch it with his weak, 
restless fingers. He felt himself entirely justified in 
leaving Kate behind with her aunt. As usual, he 
had been badly treated,” and luck ” was against 

7 


Blindfold 

him. In one stormy interview with his sister-in-law 
he had stated his case for the last time, and she listened, 
as she always did, with a fighting light in her eyes. 

‘‘ So I am to bring up Kate ? ” she asked. 

How can I do anything ? ” He stood by the 
window looking out over the long fields towards the 
low range of deep blue mountains. Clare has tied 
my hands.” 

Clare had beautiful hands of her own,” Miss 
Maxwell remarked reflectively, as she glanced away 
from Francis. What happened to all her rings ? ” 

‘‘ I intended to get them back,” he said, shrugging 
his shoulders. ‘‘ It wasn’t my fault.” 

Is anything ever your fault ? ” she bent and put 
a square of turf on the fire. I don’t seem to 
remember that it was.” 

They were none of them old, then. Francis was 
hardly thirty, and Laura a year or two younger. 
Clare had lived not twenty-six years in a difficult 
world, but as Laura stirred the soft red ashes in the 
grate and watched the fiames burn up again she be- 
came acutely aware of their youth and, somehow, of 
their helplessness. Aunt Janey, blind and sharp of 
tongue, living in her own room in the top of the 
large house, was one of those people who must always 
be protected. You couldn’t tell Aunt Janey of 
disaster. She had an unlimited sense of self-pity, 
and had, she believed, brought up her two nieces. 
In actual fact she had let them do what they liked, and 
then became enraged if things went wrong. Clare, 
the beauty, had married at twenty. It was a good 
match, because Francis ought to have been rich, and 
no one ever dared to tell the old lady how bad it had 
proved. 


8 


Blindfold 

Francis had been carried to Ireland on the waves 
of chance ; Aunt Janey took a fancy to him. He knew 
how to talk to her. Laura felt that if he could go 
upstairs and talk to her at that moment, Aunt Janey 
would believe in him all over again, because she was 
incapable of learning anything from experience. 
Now, Clare was dead, though it was dreadfully hard 
to believe it, and Francis looked sophisticated and 
horribly smart. She felt angry with the very good- 
ness of his clothes, and the way he looked at the food 
at meals. You could see that he considered it badly 
cooked. That was Francis all over. Whatever he 
did or had done, he demanded and exacted. Having 
driven Clare to death, and handed over his daughter 
to his sister-in-law, he expected to be valeted, and 
thought they ought to keep a car. Then he had 
made an hysterical scene in the churchyard, and 
impressed every one with his heart-broken devotion 
to Clare, so that all the neighbourhood felt sorry for 
him. 

Again she looked at him, wondering why it was 
that he could always do just what he liked. 

‘‘ If I undertake to look after Kate,” she said, ‘‘ it 
is on the clear understanding that she is left to me, 
and that you have nothing to say to her.” 

He turned and stood facing her. You will be 
quite independent when Aunt Janey dies,” he said 
petulantly, and I have nothing to keep myself on. 
They ” — he nodded vaguely in the direction of 
England — ‘‘ won’t do anything now.” 

“ And you don’t want her ? ” 

‘‘ Even if I did ...” He broke off and took out 
his cigarette-case. ‘‘ I shall go abroad.” 

‘‘ And Kate will never see you again.” 

9 


Blindfold 

‘‘ You’ve got this house,” he said argumentatively ; 
you were always on the right side of the old lady, 
and there’s the property, as well as everything of 
Clare’s. You don’t know what it is to be miserably 
poor.” He came across the room to the fire-place, and 
looked up at the portrait of Sir Jasper Maxwell. It 
was worth money, and Laura was, he felt, damnably 
solvent. He wanted to borrow from her, and he 
thought of the massive Georgian silver, and all the 
credit she could command. Even if the draughty old 
house was badly run, and the cooking an affront to 
an educated palate, there was a sense of security in 
it. No harassing knowledge that you owed a bill 
for your keep, and that the hotel people were begin- 
ning to look very queerly at you. Only it was all so 
deadly dull. The great woods inside the demesne 
walls at twilight, the silence and the long monotonous 
roads leading to a dirty little village where there 
was nothing to do but get drunk. Even if he could 
have stayed on, he felt it would not be worth it. 
Besides, he had never caught the knack of managing 
Laura. Who had ever managed Laura ? She always 
did what she wanted to herself, he imagined. Men 
had wanted to marry her, but she was so insufferably 
cocksure ... he frowned, no, not exactly that ; 
there was a challenge about her. Clare had been 
passive, and submitted tearfully, but Laura carried a 
weapon — a revolver or a sword, perhaps — anyhow, 
something dangerous. She was tall and slim, and 
there were the makings of a thin old woman in her, 
he thought, with a glimmer of satisfaction. Her hair 
was too fair, her voice too quiet, and her eyes too 
intensely blue — an angry blue, not the gentler kind. 
Francis hated her, but he wanted money, and besides, 
10 


Blindfold 

after all, she was going to relieve him of Kate. To 
think of living as he preferred to live, with the addi- 
tion of a small baby and a nurse would be ridiculous ; 
it couldn’t be done. He looked again round the 
large room with its high windows, and the green 
land outside, and lighting his cigarette he smiled. 

I admit everything,” he said, with sudden frank- 
ness. ‘‘ Don’t be too hard on me, Laura. You are 
too strong to be really hard. After all, I am not 
thinking only of myself in this business about Kate. 
What sort of a bringing-up would a girl have, with 
such a father ? My friends ” — he raised his level 
eyebrows — myself — to put money out of the ques- 
tion ; she’d not have a dog’s chance among us. My 
people have behaved shamefully, but you know they 
didn’t like the marriage, and poor Clare wouldn’t 
help towards making peace.” 

I don’t altogether blame your people,” Laura 
said slowly. Of course, they might have brought 
you up better, but there is no use going over all that.” 

“ They are going to do something,” he said, look- 
ing down at the fire, in a few weeks ; my mother 
is helping me.” She listened to the announcement 
without enthusiasm. Until then, could you tide 
me over ? The journey here from Paris rather 
crippled me. I don’t like asking it of you, you’ve 
been so good.” He thought of the nurse’s bill, the 
doctor’s bill, the undertaker’s bill, but unless you 
do, Laura, I shall have to stay rather indefinitely, 
I’m afraid.” 

For a second she almost laughed. Francis knew the 
value of a really sound argument. The firelight was 
kind to, his dissipated beauty, and he looked engaging 
enough. 


II 


Blindfold 

‘‘ I suppose I shall do as you ask,” she said. Once, 
Clare was wildly in love with you ; only you were 
different then.” She shook her head sorrowfully. 
‘‘ Poor little Kate. I wonder how much of you she 
has in her, Francis ? ” 

‘‘ She will grow up here,” he said, speaking softly, 
‘‘ in this wide, clean country, Laurie ; think what a 
chance that gives her, and she needn’t know anything 
about me, need she ? Everything depends on the 
surroundings a girl has.” He blew his nose and 
knelt down, stretching out his hands to the blaze. 
‘‘ It’s the best thing after all. And I may be dead ; 
I don’t believe I shall live very long. I racket too 
much, I’m a hopelessly mauvais sujet, and there . . . ” 
he made a gesture with his hands, that’s the long 
and short of it.” 

She watched him again. He believed himself sin- 
cere, and his eyes were wet, a weakness of his which 
she detested. He would be playing critically with 
his food at dinner in another hour or two, but just 
then he was emotional and soft, an actor of the 
barn-storming type who had no reserve, and could 
patter his heroics at will. In his own mind Hunting- 
don was thinking of trains and steamers, crowded 
streets and long rows of lighted lamps — to be away 
from the awful silence of Clanmore and its deep 
nights of darkness when he couldn’t get really enough 
to drink. Light was what he needed. Light and 
noise and the knowledge that he was one of a huge 
army of men whose ideas were the same as his own. 
If Laura could be got to write a cheque, there need 
only be one more dinner alone with her. 

It was growing dark inside the room, and that 
awful sense of another day, empty of the things he 
12 


Blindfold 

valued, having passed by, caught him by the nerves. 

For God’s sake, Laurie, let me go away decently,” 
he said. ‘‘ If I stay, it may only be far worse for 
us all. Remember there’s something in having an 
out-and-out blackguard for a brother-in-law. You’d 
have hated me every bit as much if I’d been a dull 
bore and you hadn’t anything really against me. 
You’re such a queer woman.” He caught her elbows 
and looked into her face. No one has ever made 
head or tail of you, or I suppose ever will. You’ve 
loathed me, and I’ve always respected you, because 
you can be so damned cruel when you choose.” 

‘‘ I don’t feel very merciful where you are con- 
cerned,” she said, in her slow, considering way. “ Why 
should I ? And now you are complicating my whole 
life. It’s strange ” — she spoke more quickly — how 
you, who are nothing to me except that you married 
Clare, have complicated things. This last little affair 
is the climax. I am to pay you to go, and in going 
you make me responsible for Kate. I’m not the 
kind of woman who can be sentimental about children, 
and hasn’t it struck you that I also may like life ? ” 
He was still holding her elbows and they looked into 
each other’s eyes, their faces not a hand’s breath from 
each other. Hasn’t it struck you that when Aunt 
Janey dies I might like some freedom myself ? ” 

What is there to prevent you having it ? ” he 
asked. 

Oh, you are stupid. I always knew you were ; 
you couldn’t lead the life you do if you were anything 
else.” Her impatience flamed up and her eyes were 
stormy. “ I wanted to get away from eternal respon- 
sibility. Live without having to think that I would 
keep some one waiting if I were ten minutes late for 

13 


Blindfold 

dinner; get away from that invisible thread which 
is so holding, and so strong, and now you, to whom 
I owe nothing, have tied me permanently. You have 
given me a daughter, Francis,” she laughed suddenly, 
“ a daughter who may even be like you.” 

“ I didn’t mean to, Laurie,” he said ridiculously, 
dropping her arms. It has happened that way.” 

“ Exactly. It has happened that way. I am 
twenty-seven, and in eighteen years’ time I shall be 
forty-five. All those years I shall be at the mercy 
of Kate.” 

“ By Jove, Laura ” — he turned away — I think the 
boot’s on the other foot, if you ask me. It is she 
who will sing to your tune. Besides, it doesn’t prevent 
your marrying, if that is what you mean.” 

“ Marry. Tie myself so that I can’t ever get free ? 
No, not that.” She crossed the room; taking a 
bunch of keys from a small drawer, she opened a 
writing-desk. “ I almost envy you, Francis. You 
can take. There must be something rather subtle 
and sweet in its way about being able to take.” 

“ Pile it on,” he said, but without bitterness. 
‘‘ The Lord loveth a cheerful giver.” 

She bent her head and wrote. A hundred 
pounds,” she said, that is all you will ever get. 
Can you imagine anything more sordid than this 
interview of ours ? ” 

“ Quite easily,” he laughed, if I tried.” 

She looked at him, and in the dying light of the 
evening a sense of something infinitely evil touched 
her and made her shrink. What he said was perfectly 
true. He had been lower than she could dream or 
imagine, and he did not seem to regret it, or regard 
it as particularly shameful. ^ 

H 


Blindfold 

When he took the cheque from her and put it 
into his pocket he did it almost gracefully. There 
was a touch of the easiness of long habit about his 
act, and it was Laurie who felt self-conscious and 
awkward. What was she paying him forj To get 
rid of him, perhaps. And even so, he had damaged 
something by being there at all. He had invaded 
some protected area of her own soul, a form of 
trespass it is always difficult to pardon. 

“ You take life too hard,” he said, and he would 
have kissed her if she had not stood up quickly. 
“ Women, for some reason or other, are always so 
fussy about money affairs. When my mother antes-up, 
m square it, Laurie.” He whistled and walked 
round the room with an inconsequent air of detach- 
ment. Of course I see your point. It’s all very 
well to have all this ” — he indicated the pictures 
and the furniture, the fire and the black chow lying 
on the rug before it — but, by George, it must be 
deadly never to get away from it ; never to be anony- 
mous . . . being so extraordinarily permanent. You 
aren’t a bit like poor Clare. She had roots like a 
poplar that ran underground for miles. It was taking 
her away that ...” He avoided the conclusion and 
became silent. ‘‘ I’m very grateful to you,” he added, 
‘‘ only of course if you hadn’t. I’d be here for some 
weeks.” A look of quick malice touched his mouth. 
He knew instinctively when he could jar her nerves. 

“ Then I think I bought you cheap,” she said. 
She was standing with one arm along the mantel- 
piece. 

‘‘ Dirt cheap,” he laughed, with genuine enjoy- 
ment. 

‘‘ Ar» it is some consolation to realize that you 

IS 


Blindfold 

will not come back again. As for that poor child, 
she will never know the kind of man you are.’' 

He stood with his hands in his pockets, rocking a 
Httle on his long legs. ‘‘ Oh yes, she will,” he said 
in his charming, cultivated voice. Make no mis- 
take about that, Laurie — in other words, ‘ Know 
Thyself.’ The first time you and Kate have a bad 
row, you will tell her. You will explain to her in 
detail, and I shan’t get off light.” 

Laura Maxwell made a sound of impatience. 
‘‘ What is the use of talking like this ? ” she asked. 

“ It’s no use, but it is amusing.” He stified a yawn. 

You never have made the best of me, and it is a 
pity, because I could interest you.” 

“ That is true,” she replied quietly. 

“ Again, more’s the pity.” He walked to the door. 
“ We meet at dinner.” 

She sat down by the fire, her fingers locked into 
the collar of the chow, who looked at her with his 
bright bear-like face and panted gently. The inter- 
view had been a costly one for her, and she suffered 
from a multitude of emotions. Francis Huntingdon 
came from a world of which she knew nothing, and 
of which she could guess very little, but her instinct 
told her that it was gross and sordid beyond her 
imagination. Clare had been dragged through it, 
but then Clare was one of those people who never 
take impressions ; her very vagueness had been her 
protection in her marriage. Once or twice during 
those last days she had wavered on the brink of an 
outburst, but always in the end she seemed to drift 
back to the life of her girlhood, forgetting what had 
happened later. Francis himself never alluded to 
what he did or how he spent his time, yet h^ carried 


Blindfold 

an atmosphere around him like a cloak, and all the 
challenge in Laura Maxwell sprang into life at the 
very sight of him. 

He was eternally alone. Nothing held him, there 
was no invisible thread in his case, and his indifference 
amounted nearly to power. 

Laura considered her brother-in-law with firmly- 
closed lips, and saw him, in her mind, floating lightly 
over the obstacles, traditional and human, which 
bounded the lives of other men. A cheap waster 
with an expensive education and good looks, a man 
who broke his word and lied, and who was prepared 
to leave his dead wife and his living daughter without 
a single qualm ; and still, he was free with the freedom 
of those who are utterly heartless. 

Never to be anonymous.” His words came back 
to her, and she put her hands close over the dog’s 
thick fur. For miles around Clanmore she knew 
every one, and every one knew her, and wherever she 
went it was much the same — and then extraordin- 
arily permanent ” ; she got up and flung her arms out 
with a gesture of revolt. 

Aunt Janey would take years to die. Long ill- 
nesses ran in that generation, and they all made old 
bones,” and now not only age but youth was to 
claim her. The baby upstairs in the big nursery 
would be just at the age when she could not be left 
when Aunt Janey was gathered to her fathers, and 
buried in the vault in Clanmore churchyard. Kate 
Huntingdon, daughter of Clare, who, like the Bour- 
bons, never forgot and never learned anything, but 
who had been a beautiful, useless, hapless creature, 
and of Francis, who never cared for anyone except 
himself. He had said that friends complicated life 
17 B 


Blindfold 

and never did anything for you,” and, with the power 
which such as he are able to wield, he had now dis- 
entangled himself from the claims of his child. The 
oysters are eaten and put down in the bill with a 
vengeance,” she said to herself, and the name of 
Laura Maxwell footed it, in clear black and white. 

She sat down again with her hands folded on her 
knees, and her boyish figure bent forward. If the 
girl were to turn out like either of her parents, she 
would be an endless anxiety, and who could tell ? 
She could hardly be above all human infirmities or 
weaknesses in any case, but as things were, the handi- 
cap was heavy. And then Laura relaxed her tense 
attitude and leaned back. There was always one 
thing upon which no one could ever count : the 
unexpected in life, the element of surprise, the 
unknown quantity. 

Behind life, which appeared so close at hand, so 
very realistic in its detail, there was the unseen wave, 
bearing all the actors and the struggles onwards to- 
wards something indefinite, but certainly there. She 
played with the thought fondly, and her eyes softened. 
It was like taking one’s place at a table and waiting 
to have the cards dealt. The others — Clare and 
Francis, were out of the game. For Clare, the dernier 
coup had been called, and Francis had got up, with 
his inevitable nonchalance, to be played without a 
partner. But even as her spirit lightened a little, a 
fresh shadow fell over her. . . . All those dull 
years. Was she not tricking herself with pleasant 
fancies, utterly distant from the actualities of life — 
a big house, an old lady and a small child, and her 
own youth fading out while she hardly noticed it ? 
Clare would have said, ‘‘ Something is sure to hap- 
i8 


Blindfold 

E en,” but when things had happened they often 
rought disaster. 

She got up with an effort and looked at her reflec- 
tion in a large mirror hung at the end of the big 
room. Even though she loved Clanmore her soul 
ached to be away from it, to find the world for her- 
self, and in so doing to find herself, which she could 
never do in this warm, well-known land. The door 
was open and she stood there, and she turned abruptly 
as the butler announced their one mourning guest 
for the evening, bidden, it is true, by Laura to avoid 
a the-d-tete meal with Francis. It was Ernest 
Mulliner, the land agent, who came forward, florid 
and stout, modulating his voice carefully, and a little 
awkward of manner. 

“ I hope Pm not too early. Miss Maxwell,” he 
said, as she greeted him, I know you always dress.” 
I sat thinking,” she said. 

‘‘ Quite natural,” he remarked. Don’t trouble 
on my account. I hope your a’nt is none the worse.” 

She is just the same. Perhaps that is what is 
the matter with us all, Mr. Mulliner.” 

By no means ” — he opened the door for her — “ and 
please don’t dress only on my account. Miss Maxwell.” 

She passed Francis on the staircase. He slid by 
her, slender and black, his hair scented with some 
expensive wash. They did not speak and he gave 
her a queer, familiar look which cheapened her in 
her own eyes, and she ran to her room and changed 
in violent haste. 

The last sound of the gong had died in trembling 
silence as she came through the square hall, and for 
a second she paused outside the drawing-room door. 

19 


Blindfold 

Mulliner had a large, hearty laugh, and he was laugh- 
ing at his top note, the kind of laugh he usually did 
not indulge in when dining at Clanmore House. 
For a widower, Francis seemed to be anything but 
depressing company. 

When she opened the door and went into the 
drawing-room a dead silence came over the two men, 
and Mulliner felt at his tie and flushed a deep purple. 
Francis, who was standing just behind him, looked 
paler than usual, and the ghost of a smile lingered 
at the corner of his mouth. 

‘‘ For such a very punctual lady, Laura,” he said, 
‘‘ you are not setting me as good an example as you 
usually do.” 

She did not look at him, but took Mulliner’s arm ; 
they walked through the door to the dining-room. 

“ I hope you didn’t trouble to dress on my account,” 
he said with a wretched return of nervousness. And 
how is your a’nt. Miss Maxwell ? I hope she is 
none the worse.” 

Francis followed behind them, black and slender, and 
faintly scented with his expensive and exotic hair- 
wash. 


20 


Chapter 2 

T he years had taken Laura Maxwell a long way from 
the time when she had paid Francis Huntingdon 
to leave Clanmore House. On the whole they had 
dealt kindly with her, and she was a distinguished 
and attractive-looking woman. Her hair had lost some 
of its moonlight quality, and its soft lankness irritated 
her, and her eyes were not so strong nor so angry a 
blue as they had been. She realized dimly that while 
life took, it also gave, and she at least never wasted 
time with unrealities. Love might have come to her, 
but she lacked the intense attraction which defies 
circumstances, and in this respect circumstances had 
conquered. 

Arthur Fanning had cared a great deal, but then 
Kate, aged five, went down with inflammation of the 
lungs and had to be taken abroad. Not the sort of 
‘‘ a&oad ” Laurie had dreamed of, but to a Swiss hotel 
full of English people, and Arthur, waylaid on the road 
of life by Susie Joyce, fell into matrimony during the 
hunting season, so that Laura chose them each a 
wedding present, and was very silent for a time. She 
began to understand that only a ‘‘ suitable ” marriage 
was likely to offer itself for her acceptance. Frederick 
Lestrange wanted a wife, and when Geraldine Coombs 
had refused him, he made a tentative effort towards 
21 


Blindfold 

Laurie, and finally married an American girl who had 
come to Ireland on a visit to the Glenallertons. 

Looking back over the years, Laura knew that it 
takes time to realize that the generation to which one 
belongs is passing onwards and has no longer the same 
significance, and Kate, who originally had mattered 
very little, began to strike out like a swimmer who has 
found wonderful confidence at last. Without Kate, 
Laura might have remained young for some years 
longer ; but contrast has a curious power of destroying 
lingering illusions. 

The vital question was, whether they would enter 
into competition or not, and yet neither of them guessed 
that this question had to be decided. During the 
time when Kate was a small energetic bundle of frill 
and a sash, Laura had reached her zenith. The child 
meant a great deal to her, and she protected her with 
something approaching fierceness from the minor ills 
and troubles of her little life, for it was then she 
began to give up her own life claims. She hunted 
through the winter, but without her old vigour and 
interest. Somehow or other these things mattered 
less, and once she had recovered from the rather bitter 
knowledge that Arthur Fanning did not care enough 
to follow her to Switzerland and had been so quickly 
consoled for her absence, she devoted herself more and 
more to Kate. 

As for Kate herself, she found life gorgeously and 
wonderfully attractive. Clanmore, the big kindly old 
house with its wide demesne, the woods and the hills, 
the stables and the garden, were sufficient for her. 
She believed that this was her world and wanted no 
other. It was exactly the kind of life which Francis 
had predicted would be hers if she stayed with her 
22 


Blindfold 

aunt, and his prophecy seemed likely to be fulfilled. 
She would grow up there, looking like a disordered 
daffodil, hunt through the winters and drive miles 
along the wide lonely roads to play tennis with neigh- 
bours ten or fifteen miles away. Realize that there 
was nothing unusual in a wagonette carrying all the 
members of one family, drawing up before the steps, 
to make an afternoon call, and that the excitements 
of existence depended on very small incidents indeed. 
In the end she might marry a soldier out of the 
Cavalry Barracks near Cork, or a son of one of the 
County families, and live happily ever after. 

If there was not much to be said for such an arrange- 
ment to those who preferred the crowded hour 
of glorious life ” standard, there was little to argue 
against it, and the only growing pains Kate suffered 
from were the natural ones, consequent upon the 
lengthening of her legs. Already at sixteen she was 
a vivid patch in the social texture of Clanmore society, 
and she might have been a butterfly in a summer 
garden, for all she ever thought of the future, or 
troubled her head about anything. 

Laura Maxwell watched her with a queer, concen- 
trated interest. Kate was not beautiful, but she 
had some of her mother’s ways, the ways of a beautiful 
woman, and the soft green-blue eyes of Clare. There 
the resemblance stopped dead, and her mouth and 
nose — a straight, neat little nose with a slight tilt 
to it which was her ojwn amendment — ^were a feminine 
reproduction of Francis Huntingdon. The soul of 
Kate was asleep in her healthy body, and the ques- 
tion was, whether it should be awakened ? Laurie, 
who had an essentially truthful habit of thought, 
never begged this question. In Clanmore there 

23 


Blindfold 

was no need for souls to awaken into painful life. 
The days and the years slid on in mellow sequence, 
and there was no great difference between the theories 
and ideas of youth and age, for perhaps neither 
condition demanded theories nor heeded fresh ideas. 
There were land troubles, and people quarrelled 
over politics, but so had all their fathers before them, 
and there was a great deal of gossip, but innovations 
of any kind were unknown. When the war caught 
the world, Kate was still too young to feel it very 
acutely, and with the unstudied philosophy of youth 
she continued on her way, full of her own gay pro- 
jects and plans which never went much farther than 
the day after to-morrow. There was a curiously 
deep strain of philosophy in Kate which appeared 
in her early. On the surface she seemed to be eager 
and full of ardour, but somewhere in the shadowy 
depths she had a power of self-protective reserve 
which startled Laura. To punish her as a child had 
been a problem, for Kate adapted herself imme- 
diately, and if her favourite toy was taken from her 
she made the best of another in its place, with a 
nonchalance that was slightly disconcerting to central 
authority. Even while she admitted the wisdom 
of her small niece, Laura remembered her own young 
passions and tears, and realized that the difference 
between them was fundamental. Kate did not 
suffer from emotional storms, and though she was 
quite unconscious of it, she always avoided over- 
expression. Her enthusiasm for life was insatiable, 
but she handled it with a queer touch of connoisseur- 
ship, and whereas Laura at the same age had been 
a sentimentalist, Kate had certainly some of the 
sophistication of the reactionary running in her blood. 

24 


Blindfold 

In Ireland no one had yet begun to study the new 
generation. The young were expected to be like every 
one else, and a blindness to the signs of the times 
was upon their world. After all, it was natural 
enough if you lived in Clanmore. Kate, coming 
home on a cold winter evening from a day’s hunting, 
or playing tennis in her white dress on a wide green 
landscape, with the belt of great trees along the 
horizon, was just another of the Maxwells ” — doing 
exactly what they had done, and growing old enough 
to meet and marry the young man from the Cavalry 
Barracks or the young landowner who had been to 
Oxford or Cambridge. Laura tried to believe it, 
and Kate never troubled her head about it. She 
believed that her father and mother were both 
, dead, and left it at that. All her energies were 
turned to the future, which was represented to her 
by her plans for to-morrow and the day after. She 
dimly remembered Aunt Janey, a disagreeable old 
lady who had ordered her about from her bed, but 
Aunt Janey was dead, and Aunt Laurie was quite 
different. 

When Kate was nineteen, Francis Huntingdon’s 
prophesy that Laura would have told her what 
manner of man her father was had never been fulfilled, 
but this was rather because he had not had time to 
know anything about his daughter, than because he 
had misread Laura Maxwell’s character. Laura 
had the hot impatience of her generation, and Kate, 
shining with her effect of gold and white, with her 
blue-green eyes and freckled fairness, stood, as she 
always did, at a distance from scenes of any sort. 
She realized that Aunt Laurie was extraordinarily 
young in some respects. Aunt Laurie loved and 

2S 


Blindfold 

hated, she minded ” about things, and, as Kate 
saw it, you were either one of those who minded ” 
or who did not mind.” If she ever analysed her 
own sleeping soul in those days, it was only because 
she felt that people like Aunt Laurie made a great 
deal of trouble both for themselves and others in 
this world, owing to their power of romantic inven- 
tion. When Aunt Laurie read the paper at break- 
fast she could work herself up into a wonderful passion 
of feeling because some one had said something in 
the House of Commons. She was becoming more 
and more political as she grew older, and took things 
seriously. From Kate’s point of view, it mattered 
very little what anyone said, so she listened quietly 
and went out as soon as she decently could. There 
was some other solution for the problems of life 
which was less exhausting, and she would have her 
cob saddled and ride away from the wonderful world, 
where, if only people would leave things alone, every- 
thing would be well. 

There was literally nothing of the reformer in Kate 
Huntingdon, and consequently nothing of the senti- 
mentalist at nineteen. She was a good materialist 
with a healthy appetite, and the kind of nerve that 
is strong because it has never been tested except by 
the adventures of a day’s hunting over a stiff line of 
country. 

It was from the world outside her that Kate drew 
her strongest emotions. Autumn, rather than spring, 
awakened some mysterious forces in her heart. The 
bitter sweet smell of the blue wraiths of peat smoke 
hanging over the village of Clanmore, and the empty, 
shining roads on moonlight nights gave her a queer 
and yet fascinating sense of exhilaration. In her 
26 


Blindfold 

imagination she played heroic parts, in which she 
sacrificed herself with unfaltering courage for a variety 
of reasons, and though the Parish Church only made 
a limited appeal to her, she was intrigued and drawn 
towards the gaunt Catholic Chapel which stood on 
a windy hill just outside Clanmore. The red fire of 
the sanctuary lamp, seen through the open doors 
as she passed by there at twilight, and the flicker of 
lighted candles made a picture in her mind, though 
she never spoke of these things. 

So far as her niece’s education was concerned, Laura 
Maxwell had one main idea, which was that the girl 
should be taught French. A variety of governesses 
had followed one another in yearly succession at 
Clanmore House, and through them, though she 
learnt very little else, Kate at least had the immense 
superiority in Clanmore circles of being able to talk 
a second language other than her own. She had heard 
vaguely of her aunt’s stepbrother, Bryan Henry, 
who lived in Paris, and sometimes Laura Maxwell 
spoke of going there. Bryan could arrange it,” 
she said. I wonder what you would think of him, 
Kate ? ” The mention of Bryan always made her 
aunt thoughtful. 

And then, quite suddenly, a change came. 

It was early summer, the syringa bushes in the 
garden were in full flower and the herbaceous border 
one blaze of colour when the thin end of the wedge 
was driven into the disorderly orderly life of Clanmore 
House. 

Laura Maxwell was sitting at the breakfast-table 
reading her letters, when she made an exclamation 
of surprise and her cheeks flushed. She looked up 
quickly, and all of a sudden her youth seemed to 
27 


Blindfold 

have come back. Her eyes smiled, and then she 
laughed. 

“ Kate, this is too funny,” she said. ^ Have^ I 
ever spoken to you of Robert Lewis ? He is a cousin. 
Perhaps you remember a photograph of a man in 
his shirt-sleeves holding a pony by the bridle ? It is 
in the library.” 

Kate blinked her eyes reflectively. Oh yes, I do,” 
she said. ‘‘ Rather a big, sulky-looking man, isn’t 
it. Aunt Laurie ? ” 

‘‘ He is coming back.” Her aunt laughed again, a 
little self-conscious laugh one did not often hear from 
her. What do you think he suggests ? ” 

‘‘ He must be rather old now,” Kate remarked. 
‘‘ Is he coming here ? ” 

Not so very old,” — Miss Maxwell put her elbows 
on the table. ‘‘ He is about three years older than I 
am. . . .” She thought for a little before she spoke 
again. But I was telling you, he wants us to join 
him in London and then go on to Paris. Bryan and 
he were friends.” 

“ Paris ! ” Kate drew a deep breath. 

“ I don’t know if we can.” Laura tapped the 
table with restless Angers. Things are going so 
badly here, and I hardly like to leave. Next winter 
is sure to be a bad one, and if we go away it might 
look like desertion.” 

Kate got up and came like a whirlwind round 
the table to where her aunt sat. Aunt Laurie, 
there are other things in the world besides politics. 
Think of my French and how good it would be for 
me to talk. I’m forgetting everything I knew, and 
besides — don’t you want to go away ? ” 

Miss Maxwell looked up at her. “ I have wanted 
28 


Blindfold 

to go away for years and years,” she said ; everything 
has prevented it, Kate, and now ... I don’t know.” 

‘‘ But we should have Robert,” Kate objected. 
“ It wouldn’t be like going alone, and then Uncle 
Bryan.” 

Laura shook her head. ‘‘ You don’t know Uncle 
Bryan. I do,” she said cryptically. 

But I want to go away ” — Kate put her arms round 
her aunt — I’m so tired of everything, really. And 
so are you. Aunt Laurie, only you won’t let yourself 
believe. We do the same things every day, and 
say the same things. We talk about the Kingsmills 
and the Forresters, and we wonder if Miss Mercy 
will be able to keep her servant. When the hunting 
is over and summer comes I have to gossip, because 
unless one talks politics there isn’t anything else to 
say. It’s absolute waste of people like us.” She stood 
up, her white dress gleaming in the big dark room, 
the sunlight which lay brilliantly along the grass 
outside the windows making the darkness within 
all the deeper. ‘‘ Colonel Griffiths will come on 
Sunday and so will Claude Wilson, and they will say 
exactly what they said last Sunday. And to-day I 
am driving over to Rathbran, and taking Elsie Cul- 
linane with me, and I know what she will say. She 
wants to marry the curate at Liscar, and she will 
tell me that she ‘ hasn’t any good news yet,’ which 
means that he hasn’t asked her to marry him so far. 
Old Mrs. Fitzgerald will sit at the corner of the tennis 
court and make spiteful remarks about every one, 
and James, dear silly old James, will wander about 
and hand tea, and look as if he was going to sleep. 
Didn’t you ever want to go away. Aunt Laurie ? 
Weren’t there times when you felt that you’d like 
29 


Blindfold 

to go down to Mahony’s shop and buy a steerage 
passage on one of the liners going to America ? ” 
And Mahony has never even been to Cork,” 
Miss Maxwell said, as though the remark was a kind 
of commentary. 

‘‘ I know he hasn’t, but we are going to Paris.” 
Kate sat down and pushed aside the plates and cups 
before her. ‘‘ What a splendid person Robert Lewis 
must be.” 

I don’t quite like the idea of leaving,” — Miss Max- 
well frowned, and touched the pages of the letter — 

‘‘ yet I once promised myself ” She paused again, 

and shadows of the past rose up before her. 

‘‘You should keep the promises you make to 
yourself,” Kate said emphatically. “ Why not ? ” 

“ Oh, why not ? ” Laura got up and stood by the 
window. “ Some people can. Perhaps you belong 
to that type, Kate. I hope, for your own sake, that 
you do. All my life I have been doing the things 
other people wouldn’t do. Your mother wouldn’t 
have stayed with Aunt Janey, but some one had to. 
Then there was you ” — she spoke without the smallest 
touch of reproach — “ you couldn’t help it. And 
now there is Clanmore. Bryan gave up his claim 
to anything when he wanted to go away, and he went, 
but I had to stay on.” 

“ Why didn’t you ever marry ? ” Kate looked at 
her aunt. “ You are still very good-looking. Aunt 
Laurie.” 

Miss Maxwell bent down and patted the black 
chow’s successor ; then shp held his head lovingly 
between her hands. 

“ There are the dogs,” she said. “ They will miss 
us dreadfully.” 


30 


Blindfold 

I don’t believe in giving up everything because 
some one will have to miss one,” Kate said quickly. 
‘‘ And the lumpy young man Robert, you might 
consider him a little. Aunt Laurie. Perhaps he has 
been counting on this Paris trip for years and ages.” 

Laura looked round the room and then out through 
the window. She was forty-five, and insensibly she 
had let Clanmore put claims on to her. What 
Kate said was perfectly true. Clanmore was the 
home of her heart, and she loved it, but the people, 
the local magnates and the lesser fry, they had abso- 
lutely nothing to give and never had given anything 
to her. She had adapted herself to them, because 
in this world one must, but why should Kate be 
subjected to the same ridiculous bondage of the 
soul ? Bryan said years before that any sensible 
man only came back to Ireland incognito, so that he 
might escape from the Protestant landowners, and 
the awful boredom which descended upon him at 
the mere idea of a bridge-party at the Fitz-Somebody- 
or-Others ; in her heart Laura was aware that she 
held his views, secretly, of course, because it wouldn’t 
do to announce them. 

Why not close down and go away ? Not for a 
month, with its rapidly slipping weeks, but for an 
indefinite time ? Was it that youth had really for- 
saken her, and that the groove, deep and comfortable, 
held her like prison walls ? She looked at Kate, 
who appeared a little ghostly in her white dress, so 
dark were the shadows in the great familiar room. 
Was there such a thing as the ghost of youth — some- 
thing which reproached her for missed opportunities, 
and adventures set aside ? If so, Kate might have 
stood up for the embodiment of her own lost years. . . . 

31 


Blindfold 

And then she thought of Robert Lewis, who also 
belonged to the past. He had been a good-looking 
young man in a florid way, and she could remember 
quite clearly still how one moonlight night he had 
kissed her under the trees outside the windows . . . 
ancient history now, and long forgotten, because it 
happened before Clare’s marriage with Francis. And 
with the strange magic of thought and remembrance, 
% Laura saw the look in the eyes of her brother-in-law ; 
with something akin to a sense of shock she realized 
that Francis was, so far as she knew, still alive in this 
world. 

She came back to the table and sat down, taking 
up the letter again. “ It would be a change,” she 
said doubtfully. “ And as you say, there is Bryan. 
He may not want us at all, Kate, as he has made a 
fine art out of detachment. Like the prodigal son, he 
took the portion that fell to him and it crippled the 
estate dreadfully when he did.” She shook her head. 
“ Robert is very dependable, the type of man who is 
good in a crowd.” 

“ Then we go, we really go ? ” Kate was not inter- 
ested in Robert, her thoughts were flying forward 
like wind-driven clouds. 

“ Yes, I will wire to-day,” Laura said slowly, and 
as she said it she felt that already she regretted the 
decision. Once she would have prepared with exactly 
the same degree of excitement and joy that Kate 
was feeling, but it was so no longer. 

“ It will be so good for you. Aunt Laurie,” Kate 
said, “ and life is so interesting.” 

“ If we can get at it,” Miss Maxwell agreed. “ The 
trouble is that things stand between you and it — or 
have in my own case. I feel as though a walking 

32 


Blindfold 

tour might be real, but tickets and trains, boats and 
luggage, are all artificial.” 

Kate stretched her slender neck upwards. “ I 
want to see hundreds and hundreds of people,” she 
said, “ crowds of them. I don’t believe I shall ever 
get enough.” 

Her eyes were clear and young, and she had never 
cried for the moon. At that moment she regarded 
her aunt as rather fantastic. Here was evidently an 
elderly admirer about to return to renew a middle- 
aged romance, and Kate had not lived long enough 
to know that reality spoils most dreams. 


33 


c 


Chapter 3 

T he traffic of London was thundering outside 
the windows of a large hotel near Victoria 
Station when Robert Lewis joined Miss Maxwell 
and her niece to bring them to Paris. In spite of 
the fact that it was an expensive hotel, there was a 
comfortlessness about the big room, and Laura had 
left the greater part of herself behind her at Clanmore. 
The past and the present overlapped each other ridi- 
culously for her, while Kate, in the full freedom of 
youth, seemed able to enjoy the dull, noisy progress 
of life in the street below the windows. 

Just as Robert was due to arrive Laura Maxwell’s 
courage failed her, and she got up and left the room. 
Kate did not notice that her aunt was gone, her 
whole interest was vividly outside herself, and she 
turned quickly as she heard herself spoken to in a 
strange voice. 

I was told that Miss Maxwell was here, and I 
suppose you are the nice little niece.” 

In a vague way she had expected to see a rather 
gaunt reproduction of the photograph in the library 
at Clanmore, but the man who spoke to her bore 
no resemblance to his former self, except that he 
was large and heavily built. He had a reddish face 
and a rather bad-tempered mouth, full and self-indul- 
34 


Blindfold 

gent, and his hair was thin and mouse-coloured. 
There was something hearty and encouraging in his 
appearance, and he held out a big soft hand which 
enclosed hers in a warm grasp. Summing him up 
quickly she thought he looked rich and arrogant, 
but there was no suggestion of fragrant romance, kept 
in lavender through years of patient fidelity. Ob- 
viously he was pleased to see her, and he laughed, the 
light catching the gold filling in his teeth, which added 
to his expensive effect. 

‘‘ The nice little niece,” he repeated. “ How old 
are you ? Sixteen ? ” 

I am nineteen,” — Kate withdrew her hand — ‘‘ and 
I suppose that you are cousin Robert.” 

“ Oh yes, Fm cousin Robert,” — he looked round the 
room ; ‘‘ and where is Laura ? ” 

She was here a minute ago.” Kate went back to 
the window, Lewis following her. ‘‘ I expect she 
will come when she knows you are here.” 

“ But you are a surprise,” he said, tapping her 
on the shoulder. “ I expected a little flapper, and 
what do I find ? ” he laughed again. “ It is a life- 
time since I saw your aunt, Kate.” He leaned against 
the window looking down at her. “You are the 
first big shock Fve had. London looks just the 
same, and I feel pretty much the same myself, except 
for avoirdupois — weight — extra flesh — and then I walk 
in and find the red-faced little baby I once saw, 
yelling like fury, grown into a long-legged girl with 
a head like a fluffy canary. Give me time to think, 
my child.” 

Kate laughed politely. She was almost sorry for 
cousin Robert. If she knew anything at all of Aunt 
Laurie he wouldn’t stand a dog’s chance with her. 
35 


Blindfold 

She formed her conclusions swiftly and without reason- 
ing them out, because she knew. Though it had 
not really interested her very much, she felt that she 
was to witness the revival of an old-fashioned romance. 
Aunt Laurie was still a beautiful and distinguished- 
looking woman, and now, to spoil it all. Cousin 
Robert didn’t look the part in the least. He was such 
an odd mixture of bourgeois respectability and a kind 
of cheery rakishness which might or might not have 
been a pose ; some mental scaffolding to keep the 
building from collapse, or an intense desire to remain 
himself as he had been in past years. 

Cousin Robert himself was ignorant of her thoughts, 
because he had not the least idea that he was old, 
to the grey-green eyes which watched him occasionally 
as he described the minor adventures of his journey. 
The major adventures he did not describe, because 
Kate was too young to be told of them ; besides, he 
still felt that it was time to ‘‘ settle down,” and 
once he had been very much in love with Laura 
Maxwell. The water which had slipped beneath 
the bridges had flowed onwards to the sea, but the 
people who stood on the bridges and watched were 
the same people. Why not ? He glanced sidew^ays 
at Kate’s fair, bent head, as she sat forward and looked 
out at the street. By Jove, she had grown up, and 
her figure was simply perfect. And if she had grown 
up, what had Laura been doing ? His thoughts 
were still running upon her when the door of the 
ugly, mustard-coloured room opened and Miss Maxwell 
came in. 

Laurie,” he said, holding out both hands, “ I 
am glad to see you.” He was glad, genuinely glad, 
and Kate, from her place in the window, watched 

36 


Blindfold 

her aunt’s last hope of romance fall into fragments 
at his feet. Laura had expected the old boyish eager- 
ness and vitality, and instead she was confronted by 
this large, well-dressed man, who looked as though 
he could be trusted to choose a first-rate dinner from 
the most complicated menu ever invented for the 
perplexity of ordinary men and women. He grasped 
her hands and held them, and they looked at each 
other steadily. 

‘‘ You seem to have . . — she paused — ‘‘ I ought 
not to say grown, I suppose, Robert. Anyhow, you 
are very large.” 

He laughed, and clapped a great hand on her shoul- 
der. And you haven’t changed by a hair.” He over- 
emphasized the words dreadfully. ‘‘ How do you 
manage it, with this young thing here reminding us 
of Anno Domini ? Kate and I are intimate friends 
already. She has been telling me how miserable she 
is at the idea of going to Paris.” 

Kate got up and walked towards the door. She 
took no heed of her aunt’s raised, protesting eyebrows. 
After all, elderly romance should have fair play. 

In her own room she sat reflecting calmly. The 
October garden in which her aunt and Cousin Robert 
found themselves did not fulfil her own ideas of illu- 
sion, and Cousin Robert suggested places which were 
not gardens. Aunt Laurie, on the other hand, always 
carried the free fresh airs of Clanmore around her, 
yet there might be some no-man’s-land of compromise 
between the two. At least. Cousin Robert was respect- 
able and solvent. Though he talked with a kind 
of wink at things forbidden and appeared to enjoy 
it, he could be shocked. 

Kate took down her hair, and began to comb it 

37 


Blindfold 

back from her forehead until it hung like a golden 
fleece down her back. Even if her aunt could hardly 
be expected to harbour any ship of dreams upon which 
she and Robert might sail forth to enchanted islands, 
he would see after things, and could be blamed 
when life went wrong. Celibacy has, after all, this 
disadvantage, that there is no one to blame for disaster 
when it arises. 

She looked at her own face reflectively, and closed 
her thin red lips, wondering what she would have 
been like if her hair had been dark and her eyes brown. 
Perhaps Aunt Laurie would marry Cousin Robert 
and make the best of it, as so many people seemed 
capable of doing. She was not sure whether or not 
she approved of the idea. Robert was expansive 
and fond, as she knew by their one interview, 
of laying his large soft hand on her shoulder ; w^hich 
was against him, but Kate decided to suspend 
her judgment ; so she lighted a cigarette with great 
insouciance, and leaned back in her chair, indifferent 
and philosophic. Her grey silk stockings and grey 
suede shoes pleased her eye, and she had realized, after 
a day’s shopping, that there is something consoling 
in possessing very attractive clothes — a fact she had 
not realized before, because in Clanmore there was 
no scope for such experiences. 

During dinner Kate fancied that Aunt Laurie 
was better pleased with Robert Lewis than she had 
expected her to be. She seemed to be regarding 
him, not so much from her own standpoint, as from 
that of some one outside. She might have been 
asking herself what Claude Wilson or Julia Fitzgerald 
would think of him. Would they approve of him or 
not ? And though Kate knew very little of life, she 

38 


Blindfold 

felt that her aunt was making a rather dangerous 
mistake. She was listening instinctively to the voice 
of the neighbour, which is the beginning of un* 
wisdom, and her manner to Robert was almost 
ingratiating. 

As for him, he grew more cheerful as he ate and 
drank, and his stories were endless. Whatever hap- 
pened, he had an instance to produce, as his mind 
avoided the abstract. He told them about “ little 
Walter Bruce ” and ‘‘ Harry Kane,” and then, with 
a wretched twist of fate, they started a political dis- 
cussion which lasted until the end of the meal. Robert 
was as British as John Bull, and Laura grew stiff and 
bitter, while Kate let her attention wander. You 
had only to look at them to know that they would 
never agree, and at last Robert put his arm round the 
back of Kate’s chair and offered her strawberries. 
He even seemed to want to feed her with them 
himself, and told her that she had a greedy corner 
to her mouth.” 

“ As for you, Laurie,” he said, with his trumpeting 
laugh, ‘‘ you look as if you lived on air. This child ” — 
he patted Kate’s averted shoulder — is flesh and blood. 
Never be a politician, Kate, it’s a mistake for a woman. 
Be as greedy and selfish as you can, but don’t vote or 
know" the names of Ministers.” 

Laura smiled abstractedly. She was back again at 
wondering whether Julia Fitzgerald would criticize 
Robert adversely or not, and had forgotten their debate. 
In these last days she had counted more than she 
knew upon the return of Robert, and what it stood 
for. 

They had an early departure next morning, in a 
cold grey dawn, and Kate watched the sleeping 
39 


Blindfold 

houses as the train thundered onwards. England 
looked strong and peaceful at that hour, and every- 
thing was shadowless and dim. Low hills and quiet 
valleys, farm-houses just seen and then left behind 
again. It was like a race to some unknown goal, and 
her thoughts always flying faster than the train, while 
the thoughts of Laura Maxwell drifted backwards 
like the thick smoke which left ravelled scarves along 
the hedges and down in the hollows. The Pullman 
car was an enchanted drawing-room to Kate, with 
its panelled walls and mirrors, and Robert, who stood 
in the corridor and smoked, appeared to her as a 
suitable and even pleasing addition to the party. 
He was a buttress against difflculty, porters and 
waiters flocked about him as he stood squarely on his 
feet and gave orders. Aunt Laurie seemed to like 
him rather less, and was very silent, and yet she was 
thinking of him, for thought does not stand still 
even when it is like the sea which moving seems 
asleep.” 

Kate, in a close little hat and a grey coat turned 
up around her chin, watched everything, though 
she did not talk, and once, when she looked at the door, 
she saw a young man pass the entrance. Their eyes 
met for a second, and he went on again. 

Sunrise and breakfast came simultaneously, and 
Robert, who had been silent, began to talk. He 
wanted to know about Bryan. 

“ Have you heard of him ? ” he asked. ‘‘ He is 
a queer fish. Never married, I suppose ? ” He 
seemed to consider that a man \yho had chosen to 
live in Paris must have something fundamentally 
amiss with him, and Kate looked up from her coffee 
and watched him with sudden interest. 

40 


Blindfold 

‘‘ Are all French people frightfully simple ? ” she 
asked with the point-blank irony of youth. 

“ Eat your ham and eggs, Kate, and don’t ask 
questions,” Robert said. ‘‘ This is the last good 
breakfast you will have until you come back. Your 
Uncle Bryan is artistic, or literary, or musical, I don’t 
know which. But you may take it from me that he 
can’t be depended upon.” 

“ He did write,” Laura said, looking in her bag. 
“ I think he intends to meet us.” She referred to a very 
brief letter. His flat in the Rue de la Petite Croix 
is too small to suggest our staying there, but at least, 
Robert, he got us rooms in the ‘ Hotel Normandie,’ 
which seems to be quite near ; give him his due.” 

Rue des petites amies would be a more suitable 
address,” Robert said, with a laugh of great enjoy- 
ment. 

‘‘ I don’t believe we ever understood him,” Laura 
said slowly. ‘‘ Anyhow, he isn’t young any 
longer.” 

Understood him ? We understood him too well, 
Laura. However, he will be very useful. He knows 
his Paris.” 

It was as though, having said that, Robert had 
said everything there was to say both for and against 
Bryan Maxwell. Breakfast was over, and a rushing 
young man came and cleared away the debris, leaving 
Kate to return to her watch at the window. She 
was wondering vaguely about her uncle and whether 
she would like him, when she grew restless and got 
up. Robert and her aunt were both reading news- 
papers, and as she had looked out of the window 
on the right side for a long time she felt that she 
would like to see the other. Besides, if she were not 

41 


Blindfold 

there, Cousin Robert and Aunt Laurie might get on 
better together. 

Standing in the swaying corridor she held to the 
open window and looked out. Gold and grey are 
wonderful colours, and the world was golden and, 
grey, with pale lakes of blue breaking up the soft 
cloudy sky. She was glad to be alive at that moment, 
with the first thanksgiving of youth, like the first 
bird’s song after sunrise. There was nothing purely 
personal in it, and it came to her from without rather 
than within. Just a waft of sheer gladness, because 
she was young and because there must be so many 
good days ahead of her, and as she realized it all she 
smiled. 

At the far end of the corridor a young man was 
watching her, the same young man who had attracted 
her notice when he passed the carriage where she sat. 
He was tall and fair, with clear-cut features and 
brown eyes. There was a marked touch of indifference 
about him, as though he felt the ^Vorld to be a place 
which he knew rather too well already, but his indiffer- 
ence did not extend to his clothes, for he had all the 
effect of a man who knows how to control his tailor. 
Remi de Limay, either for the sins of his parents, or 
for the purposes of unknown fate, was a born cos- 
mopolitan, child of a French father and a Scotch 
mother, with a strong strain of Irish thrown in, just 
to complicate the psychological situation a little more 
completely. He said of himself that his ancestry 
was like a recipe for salad dressing. Outwardly, he 
was a young man of twenty-five, who might easily 
not have been French, except for a slight accent w^hen 
he spoke English, and inwardly he was conscious of 
a thousand contradictions of temperament. His 
42 


Blindfold 

father was dead, and his mother lived in London, 
while the house in Paris which belonged to Remi 
was looked after for him by Suzanne, who was as 
much part of the family as the very walls of the rooms 
were part of the building. 

After the war, Remi had taken up journalism, and 
his mother, who had left Paris during the air-raids, 
showed no special inclination to return. 

She married Augustin de Limay when she was 
twenty, but life had never changed her. A granite-like 
quality in her resisted influences from outside, and 
she left France with the hope that Remi might be 
induced to sell the house in the Rue du Dragon, 
and come and be a Scotsman in London. That he 
had not done so disappointed her bitterly, but it 
did not occur to her to change her own plans. She 
had been in a country to which she had never been 
sympathetic for all the best years of her life, and 
now nothing would induce her to return there. 

In the abstract she adored Remi, but so did Suzanne, 
and so did numbers of people. It was one of those 
things which cannot be helped. Remi had not one, 
but several ways with him, inherited, possibly, from 
his variegated ancestry, and he was sufficiently like 
his beautiful Irish grandmother to give his mother 
occasional qualms as to whether he ought not to be 
married off and range’ d without long delay. But there 
again, the hidden currents of international differences 
prevented any definite action. If Augustin had 
lived, probably Remi might have accepted the recog- 
nized arrangement, been quite delightful at the fia7i' 
failles, and made the best of any wife selected by his 
parents, that is to say, if they had caught him in a 
French humour. But Cecily de Limay believed in 
43 


Blindfold 

freedom of choice in these matters, even though in 
her own case it had hardly been a success, and Remi 
had adopted some of the standpoints of the Western 
islands. He declined very politely to listen to sug- 
gestions made to him by Oncle Gregoire, or Tante 
Irenee, and at times he found it a good arrangement 
that his mother had taken a flat in Sloane Square. 
His Scotch grandfather, a rich timber merchant, 
had taken sufficient interest in the boy to let him 
spend some of his holidays at Luvergordon, and 
Remi had even gone to his Irish grandfather’s untidy 
old place Ardsollas, on the Blackwater, where he had 
learned to ride, and shoot over the heather-covered 
hills. 

It was a queer bringing up for any boy, with its 
holidays spent either in the magnificence of Luver- 
gordon, or the happy-go-lucky careless surroundings 
of Ardsollas, with the constant influence of Paris 
behind it all. The Luxembourg Gardens, where he 
played all his first games under the straight rows of 
trees, amid a whole company of white statues which 
stood in noble attitudes, indifferent to the weather ; 
the Lycee, where he was made to learn in a way which 
astonished his cousins when they compared notes, 
and the narrow streets of the Rive Gauche were his 
real background. And yet — and yet — there were 
times when he was in Paris that he knew himself 
to be Scotch, when he was in Scotland, that he knew 
himself to be Irish, and other times when he was 
undeniably and entirely French. How can a young 
man do very much to mend his ways when this is 
so ? 

He was feeling the full joy of being on his way home 
when he stood watching Kate looking out of the 
44 


Blindfold 

window. Number 59 Rue du Dragon was a charming 
old house, and he thought of the great carved doors, 
the little room where the concierge would be waiting 
to greet him, and the flagged court-yard inside where 
the lilacs would still be in full flower ; and then the 
queer old-world feeling of the house itself, with its 
great lofty rooms, and the portraits of Limays who 
had never done anything in particular, watching him 
come back to them. London, with its darkness and 
noise, the comfortable flat where his mother lived, 
was left behind, and Remi, though he hid the fact 
carefully, felt ridiculously glad. 

Where women were concerned, he had a healthy 
interest in them, and he had experimented so far 
as was compatible with his temperament. His 
one or two love affairs, as artificial really as imitation 
roses, had, he felt, taught him that the game was 
not worth the candle. Candles are beautiful things, 
suitable to place before shrines, and he had wasted 
one or two on plaster Venuses, which at least had 
set him thinking. Some woman would eventually 
have to teach him how to live ; the plaster Venuses 
had made that much clear, revealed that secret, even 
if the revelation had been crude. On the whole, 
with quiet wisdom, he had decided to keep his candles. 

Just then, he was interested in watching Kate. 
In one quick glance when he first saw her he made 
up his mind that probably Laura was her mother. 
There was a link of association between the girl and 
the dignified woman who belonged to a past period, 
something in the slightly frigid tilt of both heads. 
The big hearty man with his loud, booming voice 
was certainly not her father, and Remi knew that 
he himself did not much like him. As he watched 
45 


Blindfold 

Kate he became aware that the interest he felt intensi- 
fied. She was lighting a cigarette with a kind of 
young audacity that made the act symbolic, but a 
difficulty arose, for the one match she had went out, 
having burnt her fingers. 

‘‘ Can I give you a light ? ” he asked, coming towards 
her. His manner was as cold as ice as he lighted a 
match and held it between his hands, watching her 
bent head. Kate looked up, flushed but triumphant. 

‘‘ There,’’ she said emphatically. ‘‘ Thank good- 
ness.” 

Why thank goodness ? ” he asked. 

Because I didn’t want to have to disturb them,” 
— she nodded towards the carriage. 

‘‘ Oh, they aren’t to be disturbed,” he said reflec- 
tively, as though he found the point an interesting 
one. 

‘‘ They only met last night ” — she spoke argumen- 
tatively, as though she thought him rather stupid — 
“ after years and years, and they must have heaps to talk 
about.” 

He glanced in at the carriage, and shook his head. 
‘‘ It is a pity. Mademoiselle,” he said ; ‘‘ the large man 
— your uncle, is he ? — is asleep.” 

Kate then turned her head and laughed, stifling the 
sound as best she could. ‘‘ What a fool,” she remarked. 

‘‘ Certainly it isn’t very interesting for your 
mother.” 

She shook her head. “ That is Aunt Laura, or I 
ought to say my aunt. Miss Maxwell. My own name 
is Huntingdon, by the way, and the man you saw is 
my Cousin Robert.” 

And you are going to Paris ? ” He looked out 
of the window as he asked the question. 

46 


Blindfold 

Unless the train runs off the rails, or the boat 
sinks.” 

Then probably you are going to Paris,” he smiled, 
still looking out of the window. 

“ And you ? ” she asked. 

‘‘ I live there.” 

Live there ? ” She echoed his words. ‘‘ It’s so 
hard to believe. I can’t seem to realize that anyone 
lives in Paris any more than people live in dreams. 
One feels as if it might be a place that only some 
special people are allowed even to see, and that others 
might get to the station and find nothing there. Of 
course, you can’t understand this, but do you know, 
it is really almost wrong of you to say you ‘ live ’ 
in Paris.” 

Remi took out a card-case and held a little slip 
of cardboard towards her. ‘‘ Then I am a miserable 
sinner,” he said. ‘‘ My address is 59 Rue du Dragon. 
Paris is a small place. Mademoiselle, and we may even 
meet there.” 

Robert Lewis awoke with a start. He was annoyed 
with himself for having fallen asleep, and not at all 
sure whether he had snored suddenly. The imputa- 
tion of snoring is irritating, and, somehow, shameful ; 
he got up at once and stood by the door of the 
carriage. 

Look here, Laurie,” he said, turning towards her, 
“ this kind of thing won’t do.” 

What kind of thing ? ” she asked, lifting her 
delicate face and looking at him doubtfully. 

‘‘ Kate is talking to some young blighter who has 
had the cheek to speak to her, and she’s smoking.” 

I don’t see what you can do,” Laura said ; ‘‘ she 

47 


Blindfold 

always has smoked since Wilfred Strickland taught 
her to, and if she is talking to a young man . . . ” 

“ It’s absolutely wrong.” Robert flushed angrily. 
“ You don’t know the things men say about girls. 
I must say I am surprised at your taking it as you 
do. What do you know about this fellow, what does 
Kate know ? ” 

‘‘ Nothing, I expect.” Laura took up the paper 
again. “ You don’t understand the new generation.” 

All the same, I shall join them.” Robert took 
out his cigar-case. I don’t believe in promiscuous 
friendships.” 

‘‘ The new generation,” Laura said, with a slight 
tightening of her mobile mouth, are not patient 
of interference, Robert. They have no illusions, and 
they are all philosophers. They regard us as visionary 
and romantic, and treat us with more or less kindly 
scorn. You see, they are so sure of themselves, and 
they don’t fall in love.” 

“ Bunkum,” he remarked, getting up and lighting 
a cigar. “ It never was good form to scrape acquaint- 
ance with odds and ends of people, either in trains 
or on piers or — anything of that sort. I’ll move that 
young sportsman off, Laurie. I don’t much like the 
cut of his jib, anyhow.” 

Laura smiled faintly as she watched him go, and 
began to read the paper. 

For a minute Lewis watched the two young people 
who were talking earnestly together. 

‘‘ I don’t understand them,” Kate was saying. 
‘‘ They mind so much about things we don’t value 
any more, and we have suffered from their awful 
sentimentality.” 

‘‘ Panache,^ Limay remarked briefly. 

48 


Blindfold 

That is exactly it,” she agreed ; ‘‘ but you can’t 
expect them to understand. It is we who have to 
suffer for it. Look at the world.” 

She turned quickly as Rob er t j oined them . ‘ ‘ Well, ” 

he said, looking at Remi, we are nearly into Dover.” 

“ Cousin Robert, this is Mr. Limay,” Kate said, 
making the introduction with a sudden touch of self- 
consciousness. He is on his way to Paris.” 

The young man and the older looked at each other 
steadily for a second, as they exchanged civilities. 

I think you ought to go to your aunt,” Lewis 
said, taking Kate by the arm, as Limay walked away 
in the opposite direction. ‘‘ Look here, Kate,” he 
added, this kind of thing won’t do. If you pal up 
with every decent-looking young Frenchman you 
meet, you’ll find yourself in difficulties.” 

She withdrew from the touch of his hand on her 
arm and said nothing. One of the enduring disadvan- 
tages of belonging to the rising generation is that 
you cannot always say what you think to your elders. 

“ I’m only warning you,” he went on. I don’t 
suppose that what’s-his-name meant anything, but it 
isn’t done.” 

Didn’t you ever do it ? ” Kate had regained 
her self-control. 

Ah, but that is quite a different pair of sleeves.” 
Robert boomed into a laugh. Clever girl ! Throw- 
ing my wild oats in my face.” He pushed her through 
the door of the carriage. ‘‘ Here she is, Laurie, not 
a bit ashamed of herself.” 

Miss Maxwell was locking her dressing-bag, and 
only asked Kate if she had her passport ready. 

There was a blue, bright day outside the railway 
carriage, and a blue, bright sea with shining sea- 
49 


Blindfold 


gulls flying in swooping circles overhead ; there was 
light and colour everywhere, and Laura Maxwell was 
thinking of the past, because any change recalls so 
many things, and with the thought of the past there 
came a sense of grievance to her, which caught her 
for a moment, that she, too, should have experienced 
all this when she was young. 


Chapter 4 



^HE Hotel Normandie,” where Laura and her 


I niece established themselves, was a tall house 
in a narrow old street full of curiosity shops, fruiterers’ 
shops, the shop of a sto'p'peur^ and little shops where 
cheese was sold. Here and there great houses, dating 
from greater days, stood behind high doors, with 
flagged court-yards showing through the openings, 
a design of steep roofs and towering chimneys cutting 
clear against the sky. 

It was a street of glimpses and suggestions. The 
curiosity shops suggested the East, with queer china 
figures of animals, strings of amber and jade, and 
faded silk robes embroidered with exotic flowers, and 
yet it was an East that no one would ever see ; just 
a dream, vague and exquisite as a shimmer of Venetian 
glass. But no one ever bought anything in the shops, 
so far as Kate could tell. The cheese shops were 
much more successful in the matter of clients. Hun- 
dreds of little boxes of Camemberts, great flat rounds 
of Brie and slabs of Roquefort, kept like wax flowers 
in a glass case, were wares which commanded buyers.**^ 
At the end of the street a huge gold key hung out from 
a dark shop, where a black man in a red fez stood and 
looked up and down the road. The gold key might 
have been merely a symbol, or perhaps the black man 
sold keys as well as coffee, but it established itself as 


Blindfold 

a landmark by which one steered one’s course through 
the winding streets. Farther on, there were other 
landmarks in the Croix Rouge : the great irregular 
towers of St. Sulpice, a shop where the legend ran 
that you could buy “ 100,000 corsets,” and another 
known as the 100,000 chemises.” 

Here was Paris at last. Grey, domed, with towers 
and spires ; vast with splendid distances, glorious 
with the gracious beauty of the Seine ; peopled with 
statues everlastingly striking attitudes. Full of ex- 
tremes, since the streets were so wide that men and 
women walking along them looked ridiculously small, 
or so narrow that one was forced into the gutter, so 
that foot-passengers became as giants in the path. 
Great churches, full of dark shadows and little groups 
of flaming candles, draughty squares where six streets 
met, with gabled house roofs, and long alleys of 
chestnut trees leading away indefinitely. Always 
white and grey and green, with the mysterious pre- 
sence of long tradition, the historical Paris of statues, 
the religious Paris of a thousand churches, all large 
enough and sufficiently beautiful to be cathedrals, 
and the Paris of palaces of past kings and queens, 
made its wistful, curious, and almost unintelligible 
background to the Paris of the stranger. The gold 
key hanging up at the corner of the Rue d’Eglise 
might only mean, as Kate had felt, that the black 
man could open your trunk if you lost your key-ring ; 
but as a symbol it stood for the mysterious refusal 
of Paris to open her secret door to those who were 
not her own children. Like an intelligent woman, 
Paris kept her own counsel, and instead of asking that 
she should be understood by men, she deliberately 
refused to part with any of her mystery. 

52 


Blindfold 

By day it was beautiful, but even more beautiful 
by night, when the traffic in the streets had stopped, 
and the great Boulevards looked like ball-room floors, 
with chains of light reflected on the shining pave- 
ment, and when the river turned the lamp-lights into 
torches of colour which trembled away into darkness. 

The long roads of Paris by night are something 
which no one ever forgets, and the queer, almost un- 
natural green of the trees in the blue lamp-lit dark- 
ness. Half-seen faces, peering in much as memories 
come and go, the tinkle of very light music, not in 
the least well played, all the hundreds of details that 
go to make up the whole effect of the city below the 
Sacre Coeur. Kate imagined that . the Sacre Coeur 
was, in some way, the soul of Paris, when she saw it 
over the green and ivory of the chestnut trees. Some- 
times it was as white as the vision of the New Jeru- 
salem descending from the heavens, and then, again, 
it was ink blajck, or blue, to match the sky, or pink 
and luminous like a soap bubble or an opal. And she 
used to think that Paris was really full of gods, 
statesmen and poets, who walked about decorously 
clad, but closely related to the statues, and that quite 
possibly Pan was somewhere among the crowds. 

No one can ever give any real description of Paris, 
but every one who goes there receives an impression 
which remains eternally, like the recollection of youth, 
or even like youth itself, which though it changes a 
little in its manifestation for each generation is really 
everlastingly the same. 

It took a little time for Laura to settle down at 
the hotel, and Robert had faults to find. At first 
everything was wrong, and when he sat with Kate 
in a cafe in the Place de Sevres, he was so angry with 
S3 


Blindfold 

French people for being French that she was forced 
to protest. Laura was ‘‘ taking things quietly,” 
which meant that she stayed in bed until midday, 
and lay down for most of the afternoon, and in her 
absence Robert kept his eye on Kate. 

Bryan Maxwell met them at the station and saw 
them to their hotel. He looked wonderfully young 
for his age, and his grey, fair hair was thick, growing 
low on his forehead, and his eyes were deep-set and 
clever. 

What Kate had expected her prodigal uncle to be 
like she did not exactly know, but he caught her 
fancy at once, directly he looked at her, and said in 
a voice which all the years had not deprived of its 
slight southern accent, ‘‘ So you’re Kate ? ” 

He appeared indifferent and yet interesting, as 
though he watched something strange to his eyes, 
and instead of seeing to the luggage he recognized 
Remi Limay and talked to him as though they were 
both in any other place than a frantically noisy and 
perplexing railway station. In the end he had packed 
them into an omnibus which held them and their 
luggage, and said that he would come round in the 
evening to see them again. 

Robert was almost pleased to find that Bryan had 
not changed. ‘‘ I told you he would be just the same,” 
he said, with the comfortable assurance of a prophet 
whose prognostications are justified, and he kept on 
repeating that Bryan had not changed, in anything 
but a complimentary tone of voice. 

He seemed to know your young Frenchman, 
Kate,” Aunt Laura said, in her queer, veiled way, 
which never quite told all she meant. 

But there it was. The prodigal uncle evidently 

54 


Blindfold 

did not disturb himself. He had looked at his sister 
with eyes which reckoned up the ruin of the years, 
and at Kate, with a faint show of surprise which she 
preferred to regard as complimentary. As for Robert, 
he had slapped Bryan on the back, and been very 
hearty indeed about it all, — then gone to see the trunks 
through the douane. 

‘‘ Wasn’t it Bryan all over to do nothing about the 
luggage,” Robert reiterated, and he greeted Maxwell 
when he came later in the evening and they all sat 
in Laura’s bedroom together, by assuring him that 
he hadn’t changed at all. 

‘‘ I make rather a point of it,” Bryan said in his 
quiet way. 

It was about a week or more after their arrival in 
Paris that Kate began to make friends with her 
uncle. Robert had found an old acquaintance who 
was of the same type as himself, and his hours were 
late and erratic, though he always kept his afternoons 
free, and took Laura and her niece out to places where 
English was spoken. His discoveries were many in 
this respect, and he began to feel less resentful to- 
wards the French, as he found that so many of them 
had the good sense to talk English. Whether the 
sentimental temperature was rising at all Kate could 
not tell. It seemed rather that Paris was hardly a 
good place for this affair to prosper, and she deliber- 
ately avoided the uncomfortable party of three, to 
which she was tied, for Uncle Bryan had been hope- 
less about sightseeing. 

I leave that to you, Robert,” he said, “ it isn’t 
in my line.” 

At the end of a w'eek Kate made up her mind. 
She was interested in Remi Limay, and had not seen 
55 


Blindfold 

him again, though he had called upon her and her 
aunt, and his card had been found some days after- 
wards in the pigeon-hole where their letters were 
placed. She was interested also in her Uncle Bryan. 
He had asked them to dinner at a cafe, which Robert 
had found very dull, and Laura and he strayed 
into an old argument about something which had 
annoyed them both fifteen years before. All this 
was not of any special interest to Kate, but what had 
startled and astonished her was that quite inadver- 
tently, in this connection, Bryan had alluded to her 
father. 

‘‘ When I saw Francis last year he spoke of it,” 
he said in a quietly angry way, as he fiddled with his 
bread. 

She caught the furious warning of her aunt’s eyes 
and felt the electric thrill of the suspended, breath- 
less moment, and then, somehow, the talk flowed on : 
chiefly because Robert had noticed nothing, and was 
anxious for a pause in the conversation into which he 
could leap heavily. His friend Catterson had said 
that if you really knew how to order a dinner at the 
‘‘ Regence ” you could get a better one there than any- 
where else in Paris. 

‘‘ I really do not think much of this show of yours,” 
he added. “ For a man like you, Bryan, who is almost 
a Frenchman, I can’t say I do.” 

Bryan had not looked at Kate, but his eyes were 
distressed in some special sense, and she sat there 
with an oddly stunned feeling of surprise and even 
betrayal. She had been told that her father was 
dead, and now Bryan spoke of having seen him last 
year. What did it mean ? She thought for a few 
minutes — then decided to give nothing away. If 


Blindfold 

Aunt Laura had lied to her, she, Kate herself, would 
keep up the fiction out of sheer perversity. No 
doubt her aunt had a very good reason for it ; the 
kind of reason that some people find good, and at 
least her mother was dead, for she recalled the wind- 
swept graveyard on Cashel Hill, where she had often 
been, and stood looking at the black lead letters that 
recorded her mother’s name and age. She would not 
ask Aunt Laura anything about her father, but she 
made up her mind to find out, and the person she 
intended to go to was her uncle. 

It was Kate, and not Laura, who carried off the 
first awkwardness of being alone together after this 
incident, and Laura watched her closely. She had 
not been thinking very much of the girl, because 
Robert was dominating her mind. His kindness to 
Kate, and his interest in her, which almost amounted 
to fussiness, were good, encouraging traits. Laura 
had, so to speak, inherited a daughter, and if she 
decided to provide another parent, it was as well that 
he personally should be prepared to fulfil the trust. 
Robert had talked endlessly about Kate, and the neces- 
sity for looking after her properly, and seeing that 
she didn’t do anything she had better not do. He 
cited cases of girls who became entangled, and lec- 
tured Laura seriously. He was a man of the world, 
and he knew things. 

Laura was exhausted by his sense of duty even 
while she approved of it, and her anger against Bryan 
for having so disastrously resurrected Francis upset 
her very considerably. She felt sure that Kate would 
feel aggrieved, and decided that she would tell her 
exactly what manner of man her father was. Kate 
was certain to say that she should have been told, 
57 


Blindfold 

and would not realize that it is far better to keep 
unpleasant truths and unpleasant people well in the 
background of life. But when they got back to the 
hotel and Laura prepared herself for the fray, Kate 
refused battle, and sailed away gracefully on a side- 
wind of conversation. 

‘‘ When shall we see Uncle Bryan’s house .? ” she 
asked. 

“ Don’t ask me.” Laura spoke petulantly. Bryan 
is the oddest of men. Sometimes he exasperates me.” 

They talked a little, and Laura watched her niece. 
If she had spoken out^hen it might have altered 
things, but she did not. When one has kept silence 
on any subject for years, it becomes nearly impossible 
to break up the ice, and down in the depths of Laura’s 
mind Francis lay frozen and lifeless. She believed 
that he had been the cause of her own failure, and 
in some way she dreaded to let herself think of him 
at all. Then, it was just possible that Kate had not 
noticed the mistake Bryan had made. Robert had 
not noticed it, and certainly Kate betrayed nothing. 
It made her uneasy to know that Francis was walking 
about the world, and that Bryan had met him. 
There had been no opportunity for her to ask her 
brother where the man was, and what he was doing. 
To ask would have been a strain on her nerves, and 
she would far rather avoid it, so she kissed Kate and 
said that she hoped she was not too tired. 

Robert was devoted to Kate, she thought, as the 
girl went away, which was always something defin- 
itely in his favour, and if Francis ever turned up 
or made trouble he would have a man to deal with 
him, and Francis had never liked dealing with men. 
Surely it had been better to lie to her about her 

58 


Blindfold 

father and let her think him dead. Laura Maxwell 
believed in family secrets, and in keeping things close, 
and she had done her best in her effort to protect 
Kate from knowledge which would have made her 
deadly ashamed of one of her parents. Besides, how 
could you tell a girl anything like the whole truth 
about Francis ; and to tell half-truths did no good 
for anybody. She had not lied out of slackness or 
sensitiveness, but because she wanted to save Kate, 
who was temperamentally proud, from knowing that 
her father had been temperamentally cheap and 
dishonest. 

It was strange that Laura Maxwell could have 
argued herself into this mistake, but in its way it 
was more or less an heritage from the generation pre- 
vious to her own. The Grants had lunacy in their 
family, which no one ever mentioned, though every- 
body knew of it ; the Wilders drank, father and son, 
through every generation, and though Francis had 
chosen the Continent for his activities, every one 
knew exactly what sort of man he was. The one 
fact which Laura Maxwell overlooked, chiefly because 
she did not understand it, was that even the kindest 
lie is an offence once it is discovered, and the noblest 
liar loses ground when detected. 

Robert was always impressing upon her that Kate 
should be kept well in hand, and Laurie went to bed 
feeling weary and exhausted. Bryan’s chance remark 
had done so much harm, somehow, and she fed her 
fire of anger against him until she slept. 

As for Kate, she was aware of earthquake trem- 
blings. Her very youth and inexperience of life made 
it impossible for her to understand her aunt’s reser- 
vations, so that she decided to take her chance of 
59 


Blindfold 

finding her Uncle Bryan at his house the next day. 
Making the excuse of a headache, she avoided a visit 
to Malmaison which had been arranged by Robert, 
and watched him go off with Laura. She could see 
that her aunt was beginning to depend upon Cousin 
Robert. He might be an acquired taste, but once 
established, like all acquired tastes, he would be hard 
to do without, and he was kind. 

She knew where to find her uncle’s house, and 
arrived without much difficulty at the Rue de la Petite 
Croix. A small door opened in one side of the 
large entrance gates, behind which a concierge looked 
at her through a muslin blind which veiled the little 
window on the right, and up the staircase, on the 
first stage, she would find his door. Inwardly the 
concierge thought her most beautiful in her blue 
dress and wide hat. She looked as if she had caught 
all the world’s sunshine into her hair — gay hair — and 
there was a freshness and sweetness about her that 
astonished him quite passionately, for he was meridional^ 
and much influenced by externals. 

She opened the door he indicated and went up a 
wide staircase to the first landing where she was 
again confronted by high, closed doors. After a 
little search she discovered a small brass knob which 
she pressed, and the door in front of where she stood 
was opened by Bryan Maxwell himself. It struck 
Kate again how very distinctively he had kept his 
youth, and his grey-blue eyes were strong and full 
of colour. Neither was he above taking an artistic 
interest in his clothes, for he seemed to carry out 
his own colour scheme of grey, with a soft blue tie. 

He looked at Kate, and said nothing for a moment. 
It was as though he had been thinking or talking of 
6o 


Blindfold 

something which entirely occupied his mind, so that 
he could not break away at once. 

He opened a white door decorated with ornate 
gold handles, and she went into the room beyond, 
which, as is the way with French houses, was not 
one room, but really three, all opening off each other. 
The one immediately before her was empty, and so 
was the darker and more serious looking room on the 
left, where the walls were covered with books, but 
in the room on the right, which was nearly empty 
of furniture, except for two chairs and a table, and 
one or two very modern paintings on the walls, a 
man was standing by the window, looking down into 
the street. 


6i 


Chapter 5 

H e did not turn when Kate came in, but spoke 
over his shoulder. 

‘‘ The comedy varies so little, Bryan,” he said, 
“ that it bores me. I shall go.” 

Kate sat down with a touch of awkwardness. She 
felt that she had come at an inopportune moment, 
and the sense of her own youth in the presence of 
so much awful knowledge of the world weighed upon 
her. The man who had spoken in a weary and rather 
gentle voice turned and she saw him clearly. He 
was tall, with only a touch of grey in his thick hair, 
and his eyes were dark and restless. There was a 
tempestuousness about him, combined with a curi- 
ously controlled effect, as though he understood him- 
self extraordinarily well. His clothes were carefully 
put on, and it was evident that he took some care 
of his appearance. He had spoken so quietly that 
the flame of his personality astonished her. It was 
a smoky flame, unquestionably, and the fire it sprang 
from might have been composed of windows, houses, 
or things that no one had any right to burn. For a 
passing second Kate was afraid of him. 

When he saw her, he crossed the room and took 
up his soft black felt hat from a table, and stood 
watching her silently. 


62 


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“ Yes. I think weVe said all there was to say,” 
Bryan replied, a slight hesitation in his voice, which 
usually attacked him if he was moved in any way. 

‘‘ And you are not going to present me to Made- 
moiselle ? ” The strange visitor smiled suddenly at 
Kate. “ I have always regarded our host as a philo- 
sopher, a man who knows this world, and yet” — 
he swung his stick — for some reason,* he thinks it 
best that you and I should not become acquainted. 
Still, so strange are the ways of Providence, I begin 
to feel that he is mistaken.” 

Bryan came forward with a quick movement. 
‘‘ Dine with me to-night at the ‘ Republique,’ ” he 
suggested quickly, “ I won’t keep you now.” 

With a carelessness that was quite insolent, the 
man accepted the invitation, and looked back as he 
reached the door. ‘‘ A bientot^ Mademoiselle Prin- 
teni'pSy'^ he said as he went out. 

Kate watched the closed door for a second and then 
looked at her uncle, w^ho sat down on a satin-covered 
chair before her, and met her eyes. 

‘‘ It was rather difficult,” he said slowly. ‘‘ I 
suppose you have guessed who it was ? ” 

Guessed ? ” She flushed down her white throat. 

Do you mean that he ” She broke off. 

‘‘ Oh, inevitably,” — he made a helpless gesture with 
his hands. “ Francis Huntingdon, your father. I 
don’t see the least use in hiding the fact. Why Laura 
chose to, I simply . . . well, she did it for your 
sake, I suppose. I have other views on these subjects.” 
He got up and began to pace the room slowly. 
‘‘ Nothing is ever gained by lies, however good the 
intention may be. I couldn’t ask you here, Kate, 
80 long as there was a chance of your meeting your 


Blindfold 

father, though the odds were absolutely against its 
happening. But you see what has happened.” 

‘‘ So that man is my father,” she said, looking in 
front of her with steady eyes. ‘‘ It takes some getting 
used to. Uncle Bryan.” 

It does.” He sat down and crossed his legs and 
lighted a cigarette. Francis has always been one 
of the most extraordinary mixtures. As I have a 
sense of justice, it forces me to admit that, now and 
then, I like him. Once upon a time ” — he smiled at 
her — “ Park Lane was a country road with hedges on 
either side, and there used to be people alive, not so 
long ago, who could remember green fields where 
Kensington is now ; it is much the same with people, 
Kate, and there is still a wilful and rather unexpected 
effect of the forgotten wild woods in some of your 
father’s moods. That is when he is dangerous, and 
should be strictly avoided.” 

Did he know who I was ? ” she asked simply, 
raising her face. 

Maxwell shook his head. ‘‘ How could he ? ” he 
said. “ He has an extraordinary way of impressing 
himself on people, I warn you. What do you really 
think of him ? ” 

I thought ” — she hesitated slightly — ‘‘ that he 
knew too much. Do you understand what I mean ? 
Sometimes, when one is young, one feels as if other 
people — older people — know far too much, and it 
depresses me. Did he ever once ask for me ? ” 

Bryan shook his head. ‘‘ Francis and I are related 
by marriage; your mother was my stepsister, and 
these relationships do not usually endure very long 
when once they are broken, but man is a mariysided 
beast, Kate, and we do not always choose our friends 


Blindfold 

because of their fine qualities. I think your father’s 
most definite attribute is, that he is ashamed of 
nothing.” 

‘‘ And he ought to be ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, ought to be, of course he ought to be.” He 
got up and rang the bell. Let us drink tea, Kate, 
and become normal again. Tell me about yourself 
and what you wanted to say to me.” 

An old servant, wrinkled beyond belief, came into 
the room carrying a tea-tray, and Bryan patted her 
on the shoulder as she set it on a table. Marcelle 
is the best woman in the world,” he said, and I 
am an idealist. Like most Irishmen I adore women, 
from a distance, and have kept my illusions. There 
is a great deal to be said for it. Marcelle knows her 
power; she rules me because she has a hot temper 
and the most wonderful turn for epigrams. Even 
when she scolds me, I appreciate her wit,” — he poured 
out a cup of tea and handed it to Kate. You did 
want to say something to me, didn’t you ? ” 

I wanted to know why you hadn’t asked me here.” 
Kate laughed quickly. It was partly curiosity.” 

Bryan made a penitent gesture with his hands. 
“ Must you know the truth ? I do not like Robert, 
and I am hopelessly selfish. Laura and I have not 
even the advantage of meeting as strangers, which 
might offer hopes to us ; she remembers me as a 
ridiculously assertive young man who talked too much, 
and I remember her as a sister who bullied me for 
as long as she could. It is so hard to escape from 
these chains of memory. Then, Francis was in Paris. 
If you all met here, Francis might have behaved 
abominably, and I hate friction. Now the fat is 
well into the fire. You know that your father is 
65 E 


Blindfold 

alive, and you have seen him in the flesh. It is your 
own fault, Kate; you are Bluebeard’s eighth wife, 
but that is not my fault.” 

‘‘ Do you think Aunt Laurie will marry Cousin 
Robert ? ” Kate asked suddenly, and Bryan Maxwell 
stared at her in astonishment. 

^iens ! ” he said, “ that is a point I never con- 
sidered. On the whole it doesn’t seem a bad idea. 
How would you like him as a deputy father — better 
than Francis, anyhow ? ” 

I don’t want parents.” Kate put down her cup. 

Give me a cigarette. Uncle Bryan. And as I don’t 
seem to have any parents, why must I adopt them as 
I go on ? ” 

Maxwell handed her a lacquer box and she picked 
out a cigarette. Because we all have our trials,” 
he suggested. “ Isn’t that a reason ? They are use- 
ful, too, as you can blame them for your own follies. 
Half the people I know who have made a mess of 
things for themselves consider their parents wholly 
responsible, and have all the pleasure of a grudge; 
it’s a wonderful asset, and gives you heaps to talk 
about. Without parents or guardians, Kate, you 
simply can’t complain of anyone except yourself.” 

“ Can you tell me anything about my father ? ” 
she asked reflectively. 

‘‘ Can I, I wonder ? ” He got up and stood looking 
at her. ‘‘ It isn’t very easy, because I may prejudice 
you in his favour. Young people are so contradic- 
tious. One thing I can tell you is, that when his 
mother. Lady Huntingdon, died, she relented so far 
that she left him reasonably well ofl. Francis has 
no excuse for at least one of his old vices. He can 
pay his way.” 


66 


Blindfold 

‘‘ And does he ? ” Kate’s voice trembled a very 
little, and Bryan looked away before he answered 
her. 

“ Certainly, even if it does not always include his 
tailor.” 

He felt a sudden wave of deep sympathy towards 
the girl who sat there. How young she was, and 
even if youth has much of the best of Hfe, the elders 
from their distant place experience a strange pang 
now and then — the kind of pang that veterans feel 
who watch a marching army going out to war. He 
could read her easily. The swift generosity, the 
courage and the gallantry of youth were all her’s in 
spite of her own belief that she was armed and 
engined against life. She was sorry for him because 
he was elderly and had grey hair, just as she was sorry 
for Aunt Laurie, and even for Robert Lewis, and 
there was instinct awakening in her which made her 
desperately sorry for Francis, her own father. 

Why should she be sorry for Francis ? Bryan Max- 
well asked the question angrily. What had Francis 
ever done to deserve her pity ? He had ignored and 
deserted her ; if he had remembered her existence it 
was the one tribute his paternal instinct had paid 
to his daughter. There she was, fresh with the fresh- 
ness of sunrise, a suggestion of Diana in her walk and 
movements, and her terrible youth making her 
vulnerable — cruelly vulnerable. 

I think there is no use pretending that Francis 
is a man to be trusted,” he said half reluctantly. I 
don’t throw mud, Kate; it is too messy and dirties 
one’s hands, but I should advise you to leave the 
acquaintance exactly where it is.” 

Kate thought over what he had said silently. 

67 


Blindfold 

‘‘ Then why do you still regard him as a friend ? ’’ 
she asked. 

“ There you have me,” Bryan laughed. Because 
there are people in this world whom we like in spite 
of ourselves, ma cherie, and Francis is one of them. 
He has something about him, what it is, is difficult 
to explain. Yet it exists. He has done things I 
wouldn’t do myself, but then, I admit it reluctantly, 
he has done things I couldn’t do. Big things I mean. 
Helped people in a mad sort of way, and if he has 
never regretted all he has lost through being the type 
of man he is, he can get, sometimes, into a romantic 
world of impossible achievements.” He began to pace 
the room quietly as he talked. “ Laurie and I were 
never agreed about him, and perhaps she was right. 
How far we are any of us ever right in our judgments, 
God alone knows. At least, when she came to Paris 
and brought you with her, she never expected that 
you would meet Francis. If she had, nothing would 
have induced her to come. I feel most infernally 
culpable, and yet it isn’t my fault, is it ? ” 

He seemed to be wandering far away in thoughts 
of his own and did not expect a reply. As for Kate, 
a sense of the length of life came upon her. Once 
they too had all been young, and the drama had 
begun when her mother was about her own age. 
How life marred and messed things up, and possibly 
the people to whom least happened to were really 
the happiest. Aunt Laurie, who had been a great 
fighter and had overthrown Francis in more than one 
encounter, was now toned down. She minded what 
Julia Fitzgerald said about people, and had been 
driven to regard Robert as a possible husband. Robert 
young might have been fairly passable in his hearty 
68 


Blindfold 

way, but Robert old, with the mentality of a school- 
boy, and a boisterous manner which did duty for 
high spirits, was repugnant to Kate. Uncle Bryan 
was not old in the strict sense of the word, but he knew 
alarmingly much about people. If he looked at you 
hard, you hastened to change your very thoughts ; 
he was aware of everything. And then there was her 
father. She paused before her impression of him, and 
tried to be quite honest with herself, yet deep in her 
heart she felt a response to the look in his dark face. 
He simply didn’t care a rap for appearances, and had 
the curious effect of knowing himself. She felt a 
sudden touch of enlightenment in the misty darkness 
of her thoughts. So that was it. Most people did 
not know themselves in the least ; they might be good 
and thought themselves bad, or they might be bad 
and thought themselves good. Francis was an excep- 
tion, and that was exactly the reason why he had 
impressed her. 

She was just going to answer her uncle, when he 
turned to listen. Another visitor for us, Kate,” 
he said, going to the door. ‘‘ I sincerely hope it is 
no one you ought not to see.” 

“ I hope it is,” she retorted defiantly. ‘‘ Cousin 
Robert thinks there are dozens of them here.” 

Dozens of what ? ” Bryan paused at the door. 

“ The people one sees,” Kate said, searching for 
an exact description. You know. Uncle Bryan. 
People with mouths like very red cherries and pink 
and white faces, they usually wear very well-cut coats 
and skirts and high-heeled shoes.” 

Bryan Maxwell threw up his hands in dismay. 

And you tell me that Robert actually believes that ? 
He has reached the age of forty-five, and he persuades 
69 


Blindfold 

himself that I I can’t get over it, Kate. But 

there’s one of them ringing again, so prepare yourself 
for what Robert would expect.” 

Kate took a chocolate out of a box on the table 
and leaned back in her chair, waiting. After all, 
life in Paris was very interesting. 

She heard voices outside the door as she sat there, 
and knew that the visitor was not dressed in a coat 
and skirt, and then a sharp thrill of interest tingled 
through her as she recognized the voice of Remi 
Limay. 

He came in behind her uncle, to whom he was 
talking in a low energetic voice, and it seemed to 
Kate that Bryan warned him in some silent way, 
because he ceased to speak abruptly, and looked at 
her with every sign of surprise. 

“ You have met my niece,” Bryan said. Of course, 
I ought to have remembered that you spoke of her. 
She and I have been having a conference and dis- 
cussing the state of the world and life in general. 
We think it pretty bad, Remi, and yet are in diffi- 
culties as to how we can improve upon it. Miss 
Huntingdon has advanced views, as suits her age.” 

Remi sat down and looked at Kate. “ I did call,” 
he said. 

‘‘ I know you did ; I found your card — eventually.” 
She gathered up her gloves, a desire for flight was 
upon her. She wanted to get away from every one 
and lean over a bridge and look at running water. 
It doesn’t do to have too many things to think of 
all at once. She even resented the fact that Remi 
made her think of himself when she wished to think 
of Uncle Bryan and her father. He was young, he 
looked at her with the eyes of her own generation, 
70 


Blindfold 

and she was interested. She went so far as to feel 
interested in his clothes, which were slightly different 
in cut to those of an Englishman, and the difference 
in his manner appealed to her strongly, but just then 
she did not want him. 

I ought to be going. Uncle Bryan,” she said, and 
he made no effort to keep her, but walked into the 
vestibule and opened the door on to the staircase. 

“ You had better tell Laurie,” he remarked. 

“ I intended to tell her,” Kate replied thought- 
fully. “ One ought not to keep things from people.” 

Which maxim, thoroughly comprehended, con- 
tains all the Law and the Prophets,” Bryan Maxwell 
added to himself, as he closed the door behind her. 

The clamour of the street greeted Kate directly 
she went out from the quiet of the court-yard, and 
on to the narrow pavement. A thousand sounds 
struggled for mastery. An omnibus full of postmen 
rattled past, followed by a thundering motor-bus 
which travelled like the car of juggernaut, with its 
little crowd on the platform at the back, standing 
like people on a partly submerged rock. Taxi’s like 
huge mechanical toys streamed violently along, and 
a cart drawn by horses with bells on their bridles 
made a gay, fairy-tale sound amid all the rest, and 
somewhere up the street, a vendor with a powerful 
voice alternately blew a shrill horn and shouted 
“ as-ti-cots ” rather as though he were chanting a 
response in some strange ritual. Paris grasped her 
by the throat, the Paris of sounds and noise, and 
drove thought to a distance. A sense of perplexity 
touched her soul. In Ireland she had known her 
world, but here she was only a stranger, and she was 
attracting some attention as she walked towards the 

71 


Blindfold 

Boulevard St. Germain. An elderly gentleman with 
the red rosette of the Legion of Honour in his button- 
hole smiled at her and said, Bonjour^ ma cherie.'^^ 
There was nothing offensive in the way he spoke, 
but Kate hurried onwards. The mystery of differing 
nationalities swept across her, and added to her wonder 
at it all. There were too many of the ladies with 
mouths like over-ripe cherries in the streets, and she 
looked at them all with the cold, wondering eyes of 
youth. 

At length she reached the bridge of the Saints 
Peres and stood leaning over watching the vista of 
tall houses with the stained white volets marking 
their thin, wan faces and intensifying the human effect 
of every house ; the soft green of the trees along the 
banks, and the whiteness of the towers amid domes 
etched against an evening sky, like a dream city. 

She tried to arrange her thoughts, to consider what 
she intended to say to her aunt, and to understand 
what she really felt about her father, for Kate was 
one of those rare people who never begged a question. 
But try as she would all these things escaped from 
her. Paris lured her into a kind of trance, touched 
with a curious presentiment of events on their way, 
just as one might listen on an unknown road to the 
distant sound of approaching footsteps, not knowing 
who it was who advanced. 

The glory died away along the Seine, and the 
secrets of the dead hour ” began to whisper in the 
trees. A smile caught her eyes. Ages ago her Nannie 
had told her that she knew the cat’s secret,” and 
as a child she had been angrily curious to hear what 
it was, but Nannie could not be induced to tell. 
Perhaps the cat’s secret was a bigger thing than 


Blindfold 

Nannie had believed it to be, and possibly it merged 
at some indistinct point into the secret of Paris, and 
from that, on, into the great hidden secret of life 
itself. 

She returned to earth with a start as a hand was 
laid on her arm, and the voice of Robert Lewis broke 
into her thoughts. 

‘‘ Look here, little girl, this won’t do. ...” 


73 


Chapter 6 

S HE had intended to have it out with Aunt Laura 
that night. The privacy of Miss Maxwell’s 
room was by no means secure, as it had to do duty as 
a general sitting-room, so Kate intended to get her 
aunt into her own room, which she kept rigorously 
to herself. But fate decided otherwise, and Aunt 
Laura went to bed early. 

The day had not been a success. Nothing ever is 
if you are waiting for something to be said, which 
is not said. Laura had decided that, partly on 
Kate’s account, she would accept Robert Lewis. She 
was not enthusiastic about it. It would be just a 
middle-aged marriage with no romance to gild it, 
but entirely sensible, and Julia Fitzgerald would not 
be able to sneer at her. Julia Fitzgerald was her 
best friend, and tore her to shreds behind her back. 
Laura was aware of this, but had fallen into the habit 
of trying to placate her, as the owner of a cross dog 
might throw him bones or bits of meat. Laura had 
spent a thoroughly exhausting afternoon at Mal- 
maison. Robert was out of sorts, and looked dull of 
eye and sulky. He treated her rather as though 
she were already a wife of whom he had tired, and 
he was like an actor deprived of an audience. They 
had quarrelled about Kate, and been silent for u 
74 


Blindfold 

time, when they at length fell back upon politics, 
and fought steadily for the remainder of the time, 
until they returned to Paris, when Robert went out 
immediately. He was a good, well-meaning man, 
she told herself, and any husband would be equally 
heavy on hand at times, but she still admired the 
way in which he ordered meals and issued commands 
to the servants. He had a second-rate brain, but his 
manner was not second-rate, and so many men with 
first-rate brains lack the right manner or the right 
way with a menu. 

She decided that she was tired and would leave 
Robert to look after Kate. He was so strong on the 
subject of Kate that he might as well begin to under- 
take his duties. She was thoroughly weary when 
she took the pins out of her hair and lay down on 
her bed, and then her mind travelled backwards 
over the day, until without any introduction or 
warning, she found herself thinking of Francis. As 
a young woman she had hated him, not only because 
he had treated Clare so badly or because he had black- 
mailed Laura herself shamelessly and left her to look 
after his child, but because he had always made her 
queerly, keenly and bitterly dissatisfied with her own 
life. Even now, after all these years, his personality 
haunted her. He had some wizard-like power of 
reading her mind, and he could — and had — appreciated 
her best qualities. He had spoilt the other kind of 
man for her, even when she scorned him. 

Could one imagine, she asked herself, spending such 
an afternoon as she had just spent with Robert, in 
the company of Francis Huntingdon ? Francis would 
have awakened her interest to its fullest pitch, even 
if he had exasperated her, and if he had wanted to 
75 


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marry her, because there was no one else and the 
whole thing seemed so suitable, he would have put 
it in a way that would have at least been amusing 
to listen to. She admitted to herself that Francis 
had been her worst enemy, because he had set up his 
own terrible standard in her recollection, so that he 
swung lightly on his high trapeze and laughed down 
at her and Robert as they sat in the sawdust of the 
ring. 

She had forgotten about Kate and her knowledge 
of the fact that her father was still alive, as she was 
painfully occupied with herself, and she sent a message 
by the femme de chamhre telling her niece that she 
did not want to be disturbed. For one evening, at 
least, she intended to put off the thought of the 
future, though on the morrow she might be obliged 
to accept Robert and make the best of him. 

Kate’s feelings, when she realized that her evening 
was to be spent with Robert, were by no means 
mixed. She resented his appearance on the bridge, 
and had been led home, much against her will, and 
now Aunt Laura delivered her up to another spell 
of boredom. She had a strong, definite affection 
for her aunt, and though she intended to measure 
swords with her for not having been more honest 
about her father, Kate was in a forgiving mood. 
Her natural sense of proportion assisted her, and she 
wanted to talk over the situation frankly and without 
prejudice. Now she was forced to postpone the 
conference, and Robert knocked at the door and told 
her to put on her glad rags,” as he intended to 
take her out to dinner. 

This altered the situation slightly for the better, 
and Kate cheered up in spirit. After all, Robert 
76 


Blindfold 

was good at taking people out, and anything was 
better than the small table in the corner of the hotel 
dining-room, where the same dinner was served 
every night without variation. Kate could appreci- 
ate the stalled ox when it included ices and a band, 
so she dressed herself all over again, and was quite 
contented by the effect. Her dress was a new one 
of pale gold tissue, covered with a filmy cloud of 
faint primrose chiffon, and she put a high black comb 
in her hair at the last minute, feeling that it looked 
worldly and dashing. She was in a hurry to leave 
her childhood behind her, and the black comb might 
have been worn by a woman of forty. 

Robert looked at her as she came down the stair- 
case. He was at his best in evening dress, and Kate 
realized that he intended to do the thing well, as a 
taxi de luxe panted gently outside the glass doors 
of the hotel. The sky was still clear, and the lights 
shone more like stars than lamps down the street 
as they started off together. 

“ Where are we dining ? ” she asked. 

‘‘ I’m taking you to the Trouville,” he said. I 
hear it is good.” 

She missed some of his usual heartiness of manner, 
and began to wonder if things had gone wrong that 
afternoon. Laura had complained of a headache, 
and Robert was evidently not altogether himself. 
What if her aunt had refused him ? Kate felt a touch 
of pity towards him, as she sat looking out of the 
window at the magical lights of Paris. Perhaps Robert 
was very unhappy, and if so she would like to be some 
little comfort to him. Aunt Laura had funked it 
at the last minute, and now she might want to leave 
Paris. The very thought of it affected her like a wave 
77 


Blindfold 

of cold grey sea water, and she prayed inwardly 
that she was mistaken. When she turned her head 
she found that he was looking at her, and yet he did 
not speak. 

The Trouville was a large restaurant of the most 
expensive kind at the corner of the Avenue de POpera. 
Small tables were set at discreet intervals and lights 
of different colours were festooned from the ceiling. 
In the centre of the large room there was a space 
left for dancers, and a band stormed at the furthest 
end. The whole tone of the place was completely 
modern, and not a touch of the sentimentalism of 
the mid-Victorian period made its way in. Two 
professional dancers, a man like a black silhouette 
and a woman who appeared to be made of gutta-percha, 
danced with still, solemn faces. Every one who 
dined at the Trouville was rich, and all the waiters 
spoke English. The first chagrin of the evening for 
Kate was when the waiter, who came to take their 
order, replied to her quite fluent French, in equally 
fluent and familiar English. That’s all right,” he 
said. ‘‘ Take my tip and you’ll do.” 

“ That waiter is atrocious,” Kate said, flushing 
angrily ; ‘‘ really. Cousin Robert, it’s too much.” 

“ French waiters have no manners,” he remarked, 
unfolding his napkin. 

Yet she was pleased with it all, because it was new. 
The sweet scent of flowers and perfume, the gay 
effect of the lights, like Aladdin’s Garden, and the 
indisputable excellence of the food made for a kind 
of contentment. The patron, who moved about among 
his clients like an Eastern god, brought her a little 
silver fan and two pale pink roses, which he presented 
to her with a bow and a compliment. Here and 
7B 


Blindfold 

there people were making love more or less openly, 
and a good-looking young man who was dining with 
a startling apparition in jade green, kissed her hands 
frequently, and once or twice leaned across the table 
and kissed her crimson lips. These two were not 
unlike the professional dancers, and Kate wondered 
whether they also were paid for their indiscreet 
love-making. 

Meanwhile Cousin Robert was doing himself well. 
He became less abstracted in manner, and looked 
at Kate with steadily contemplative eyes. ‘‘ That’s 
rather a naughty contraption you have in your hair,” 
he said, “ where did you get it ? ” 

“ My comb ? ” She looked up from her ice, and 
wished that Cousin Robert could dance. A number 
of the people who had finished dinner were beginning 
to dance, and there was a heightening of the emo- 
tional atmosphere. 

He filled her glass again. Your comb,” he 
repeated. “ Ah, little Kate, you don’t know your 
own power.” 

“ Can I have a cigarette ? ” she asked, with a desire 
to change the conversation. 

“ I don’t like your smoking so much, but girls will 
be boys these days,” he said, and seemed pleased with 
his jest. Keep as you are and strive not to alter 
yourself.” He held a match in the hollow of his hands 
as she lighted her cigarette. 

‘‘ I’m sorry Aunt Laura couldn’t come,” Kate said 
as she swept the room with her steady, level glance. 

I don’t often get you to myself, young lady ” — 
Robert lighted a cigar and stirred his coffee — so 
don’t ask me to mourn the fact.” 

She started quickly and looked at him in dismay. 

79 


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All of a sudden she read a look in his eyes which 
frightened her in a sense, whild it armed her against 
a wholly unforeseen eventuality. Yet the reserve of 
youth held strongly, and she made no answer. 

Cousin Robert leaned on the table. “ Life isn’t 
such an easy game as you may imagine,” he said, with 
a lifting of his heavy shoulders. I was once in 
love with your aunt, you little witch, I suppose you 
know that, what ? ” 

‘‘ I didn’t know it. Aunt Laura doesn’t talk of 
these things.” 

“ Doesn’t she ? It wouldn’t much matter if she 
had. But a lot of water has slipped under the bridges 
since then, and I suppose you think me an old man ? ” 

‘‘ Not exactly old.” Kate watched the dancers. 

‘‘ But not exactly in the flower of my youth.” He 
laughed. It will happen to you in time. You 
will grow old.” 

Kate sat back a little. The table had grown much 
too small ; wherever she moved the world, or the part 
of it she inhabited at that moment, seemed also far 
too small ; wherever she moved, Robert was able to 
touch her. 

‘‘ I suppose I shall,” she replied indifferently. 

‘‘ I suppose too,” he suggested, that you would 
think me a hopeless fool if I said that I love you ? ” 

‘‘ I should think it most awfully mean of you to 
say it, when I am dining with you alone,” she retorted. 

‘‘ I only ask you,” he put his head on one side and 
smiled again. ‘‘ I haven’t done more than that. I 
might have asked you if you liked cheese, or if your 
brother liked cheese, or if you had a brother . . .” 
he broke off, a sudden dense bitterness overwhelming 
him. You’re such a child,” he said angrily. 


Blindfold 

She looked at him, and there was no doubt at that 
moment Kate’s look was an insolent one. 

By Gad ! ” he said quickly, striking the table 
with his open palm. Tou are like Francis some- 
times.” 

A young man, who had been dining at a distant table, 
threaded his way through the crowd and advanced 
towards where Kate sat. He was tall and rather prim 
looking, and he bowed very formally, and asked if 
Mademoiselle would dance, with the permission of 
Monsieur her father. 

“ Certainement pas,” Robert replied, flushing a 
hard red, but Kate got up. 

Monsieur is not my father,” she said deliberately, 
“ and I should like to dance.” 

Without showing the smallest emotion or surprise 
of any kind, the dark young man slid Kate off and 
they were lost for a moment in the crowd. 

Robert watched, his lower lip drawn sharply under 
his white, irregular teeth, and an ugly smile in his 
eyes. He ordered himself another liqueur and leaned 
back in his chair. Some adventurous lady threw a 
silk ball at him, which he caught and tossed aside. He 
had no intention of encouraging advances of the kind. 

Kate was dancing silently with the young man. 
They neither looked at nor spoke to one another, 
and amid the over-fed and rather over-blown collec- 
tion of human beings, she appeared even poignantly 
different to all the rest. 

Why had he brought her there ? he asked himself 
angrily. These people were civilized barbarians, 
and he used many strong words with which to describe 
them. It was ‘‘ no place for a girl.” Paris was no 
place for a girl,” and he must take her away. 

8i F 


Blindfold 

The music ceased and Kate came back, parting 
formally from her partner, who retired to his place. 

“ You were annoyed with me, Kate,” Robert said, 
‘‘ but that kind of thing is bad form. A man has 
no earthly right to come up and speak to a girl unless 
he has been introduced to her. You don’t know if 
the fellow is a counter-jumper.” 

‘‘ He danced very well,” Kate replied frigidly. 

At his age, I should have been jolly well snubbed 
if I had been such an ass.” 

Kate said nothing. She was wondering if anyone 
else would ask her to dance. It made the evening 
less dreadful if there was some relief. 

Robert signed to the waiter and asked for his bill. 
“ I think we have had enough of this,” he said. Come 
along, Kate, we will move now.” 

When they were standing out in the street, Robert 
paused and appeared to consider some question. 

It is beautifully fine,” he suggested. ‘‘ Shall we 
walk back ? ” 

A great moon was pouring its glory through torn 
gold clouds ; the traffic in the streets had lessened, 
so that the effect of polished floors and the reflected 
chains of lamplight were intensely clear. The 
solemnity of night was approaching, and it touched 
Kate with its mantle. She would have liked to have 
walked the streets alone, just to think her own thoughts, 
but Robert tucked her arm through his and there 
was no possible way of escape. 

He talked to her rapidly, telling her a story of his 
polo days which lasted until they got past the silent 
entrance to the Palais Royal. According to his own 
account he had been a magnificent polo player, and 
as they crossed the street and went under the heavy 
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shadows of the archway leading to the Place du Car- 
rousel, his grip on her tightened, though she did not 
pause in her quick walk. A fiacre passed them noisily, 
rattling over the cobble-stones, and Robert directed 
their advance to the left and stood still. The great 
square of the Louvre was in darkness and the moon- 
light turned the lights of the lamps into dimness. 
Amid the green trees, outlines of white statues glim- 
mered like ghosts, and the width and majesty of 
the place made Kate forget her companion, who still 
held her cold arm with tense, hot hands. 

Kate, Fd give you a good time,” he said almost 
piteously. I really would. Fd let you have a 
free hand, and take you wherever you wanted to go. 
As it is you can’t really care very much about Clan- 
more, and life with Laura. Your Uncle Bryan 
wouldn’t cross the road for you, and there’s your 
father. I don’t want to say anything unfair, but a 
father like that handicaps a girl.” 

You said I was like him just now,” she sug- 
gested, releasing herself from his grasp. 

‘‘ So you are.” He stood looking at her. ‘‘ I know 
the world and I could deal with you, help you, under- 
stand you. What lad of your own age knows any- 
thing ? ” He snapped his fingers. ‘V You have enough 
of Francis in you to make it a gamble.” He caught 
her and would have kissed her only that she fought 
him off. 

‘‘ And Aunt Laurie ” — a real cry of reproach came 
from Kate’s lips — I don’t suppose she cares for 
you, but she would have married you, and you have 
spoilt everything.” 

We don’t suit.” They were walking onwards again, 
but divided by a narrow space. Since I saw you 

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I have thought of nothing else, I swear it, Kate. Mind 
you, I tried. Fm no saint, and I had a thick night 
of it once or twice, you need never call me a hypo- 
crite, but that sort of thing is no use to me. If I 
had really loved Laurie the way I used to, twenty 
years ago, do you suppose Fd . . .” he made a des- 
perate sweep with his arm. If anyone is to blame, 
it’s you. I wanted to forget you.” 

The wind from the river came cold and clear, 
touching Kate’s hair, fresh with the sweetness of 
eternity, and, standing on the bridge, she faced Cousin 
Robert. 

‘‘ I don’t care what my father is like,” she said. 

I am sure he never did anything worse than what 
you have done to-night. You’ve let Aunt Laurie 
down and I shall never forgive you.” That was 
exactly what she felt. She did not think of herself, 
because Robert meant nothing to her, he was just a 
man who had drunk a number of liqueurs and couldn’t 
enjoy anything until he had been worked up to a 
point where excitement seized him. She was young, 
and the world lay before her. You should have 
cared for her, she is far too good for you and now what 
will happen ? ” 

To Kate it was impossible to forget to-morrow. 
She was intensely aware of the power of the future, 
partly perhaps because there was something of the 
dawn in her. Even in her anger, she never lost hold 
of her grip on facts. 

Your father is a blackguard.” Robert got some 
satisfaction out of the violence with which he spoke. 

Have no illusions on that score. If you married 
me, Kate, you might be happy. As it is, I don’t see 
that things will be always easy for you.” 

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“ I don’t care what you say.” She had got past 
the young reserve of habit, and a sense of her own 
freedom came over her as she answered. The words 
were more a retort than a reply, but they meant a 
great deal to Kate. She turned away, and walked 
on in front of him, while he followed her along the 
deserted street. 

As he walked, not trying to catch her up, he realized 
that late love is a terrible thing, inflicting terrible 
penalties. Kate with her suggestion of a spring day, 
far removed by years and years from the cold leanness 
of winter, flickered ahead of him. She seemed almost 
unreal, and in spite of her clear, echoing footfall, 
and he thought of the enchantment of her gaiety, 
the sweetness of her very indifference ; of her coldness, 
so remote from the tenderness of passion, which made 
her free. Some one would teach her to look differently 
at life, but it would never be Robert Lewis who was 
to do that. 

As she turned the corner under a street lamp, the 
light falling on her head, a desperate pang caught 
his heart. The girl had been right, but even so, 
Laura had vanished into the regions of the impossible. 

Kate,” he called to her, as she stood outside the 
high closed doors of the hotel, waiting for it to open 
automatically in response to her impetuous ringing. 

Kate, let us make it up.” 

Above them, the tall white house towered, with 
its mysterious, closed volets^ and they were absolutely 
alone in the narrow street. 

I don’t want your kind of love. If I ever marry, 
it won’t be anyone like you,” she said in her clear 
impetuous voice. 

“ You want the impossible,” he said. ‘‘ However, 

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we’ll leave it at that. Life will teach you your 
lesson.” 

The door opened, with the effect of magic, and Kate 
went in to the dark hall. She did not look back at 
Robert, but wished him good night in a brief, careless 
voice, and ran up the staircase without looking back. 


86 


Chapter 7 

L aura had not slept. Whether it was the poison 
of old, hot thoughts which kept her awake, or 
that she was hopelessly over-fatigued, she did not 
know. And before she was well aware of it, she had 
got back again to thinking of Robert Lewis. He had 
said that Kate would marry young, and though 
Laura knew that her niece was no longer a child, the 
idea was strange to her. It seemed to rob her of her 
last claim to youth at one blow. Insensibly she had 
built her life around Kate, and if the girl were removed, 
there would be a big gap left — a lessening of all raison 
(THre^ and an intensified loneliness which could only 
deepen with the years. 

A new feeling awoke in her. She did not wait to 
think of herself alone, and at any rate Robert would 
be able to stand between her and that. Human 
nature demanded an exacting present, and once that 
was finished, finally, Laurie saw that she would wither 
within a few years. There was no getting away from 
it, even if it were a sorry solution, and she strove to 
compose her mind. She was perfectly sure of Robert. 
Had he not loved her for half a lifetime ? The 
depth of quality of his love hardly mattered, because 
she knew that it was of the quietly faithful type. 
With that she must be satisfied, and in any case, it 

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was far more than many women could boast of. She 
turned to him a thought, realizing his hard, weather- 
beaten good looks, and recalling the life in his eyes 
when he was happy. He had retained the vitality 
of a much younger man and it pleased her to realize 
this. She even felt a touch of pride and victory that 
stimulated her, and had arrived a long stage of the 
way towards definite satisfaction, when the stillness 
of the night in her room was broken by the rising sound 
of footsteps. 

Smiling to herself she said Kate,” but then, it 
was Kate alone, and in a sudden panic of half-drowsy 
fears, she got out of bed and crossed the room. 

The windows were wide open, and the volets 
closed so that she pushed her hand over the iron bal- 
cony and separated them lightly, reassured again 
as she heard the heavier tramp of Robert’s feet. 
Somewhere down in the depths of the house the 
muffled whirr of an electric bell made itself heard, to 
disturb the sleeping valet de chambre^ but sleep still 
held him, for the stifled noise was repeated again, and 
from the street below the sound of voices came up to 
her clearly. 

“ I don’t want your kind of love. If I ever marry, 
it won’t be anyone like you.” 

Laura bent forward and listened for the reply, 
which was less audible, and then the heavy jerk of 
the machinery that served to open the door made its 
dull, bruised sound, and a moment later, closed with 
the definiteness of doom. For a second Laura felt 
as if it had been shut upon her own body and deprived 
her of all feeling. The shock had been a violent one, 
and it took time to awaken from it. She went back 
to her bed and sat down on the edge, her hands pressed 


Blindfold 

against her forehead. This was the kind of trick life 
played on the superannuated, the cruelty of it hurt 
her, and she breathed hard and fast. Until that 
moment, she had never dreamed how much she really 
counted upon Robert, or how big a part he actually 
played in her plans for the future. She was too 
miserable at first to think clearly of anything else. 

He had taken Kate out, and asked her to marry him. 
The plain fact could be expressed in a few words, 
and Kate had thrown a blank refusal in his face. 
She told herself that it was not the girl’s fault, but 
fires within broke out from under the cover she tried 
to heap upon them, and all her anger spread, in the 
wind of her passionate disappointment, towards Kate. 
She thought of her years of service, all the good years 
when she might have been happy. Kate had cheated 
her out of that, and now, not content with filching 
the days of glory, she came and deprived her of that 
awful possession, the last hope. 

Laura was naturally a just woman, not given to 
unfair judgments, but she broke under the strain, and 
as she recalled the sound of the voice rising upwards 
from the street, she could have hated her niece. 

As in a clear ray of light, she saw Robert trans- 
formed and endowed with a thousand attractions 
that she had denied to him in her sure belief that he 
loved her. He had loved her, and he would love 
her still, if it were not for Kate, who had years of 
victory in front of her. Why could she not have left 
him alone ? 

The slow painful tears of middle age coursed down 
her cheeks, and she pressed her hands together, hurting 
herself deliberately. It was mean and cruel, and she 
wanted some kind of revenge. 

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After a time she began to realize that no one except 
herself knew how matters stood. She had treated 
Robert as an old friend and a cousin, and it was 
some slight consolation to think that her pain could 
be hidden. Kate, certainly, would never know any- 
thing. That she had heard words not intended for 
her to hear was not in any way her fault, and she held 
her knowledge secret and safe. 

She lay down again on her bed, and closed her 
eyes. There was some way of getting through things, 
and there was Clanmore — a bitter pang swept her, 
because, frequently, little humiliations hurt more 
than a great woe, and she remembered her letter to 
Julia Fitzgerald. Julia would never guess the truth. 
Trust her to find out, and she would rejoice ; that 
was exactly the kind of woman Julia was. Through 
the long night Laura suffered. She had always been 
a dignified woman and the situation appeared so 
hopelessly devoid of any grace or credit. 

The morning brought Kate to her bedside, and 
though Laura’s face was drawn and white, she assured 
her niece that she was perfectly well. 

Outwardly she greeted her with her usual manner 
and asked a few questions about the previous night. 
It gave her a curious sense of satisfaction to know that 
Kate was not altogether happy, and as she watched 
the girl standing by the window the smothered flame 
broke out afresh, and she chose, as it were, an arrow, 
with some deliberation, and shot at her, taking steady 
aim. 

“ Kate, darling,” she said quietly, “ I think you 
ought to know that your father is in Paris. I always 
spared you many very painful facts about him. Per- 
haps I was wrong. Anyhow, as things are, I have 
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made up my mind to leave here, and our holiday 
must end.” 

“ End ? ” Kate turned quickly. Oh no, Aunt 
Laurie.” 

Miss Maxwell shook her head. ‘‘ There was never 
any legal arrangement,” she said, and virtually you 
belong to him until you are twenty-one. He is a 
man we do not speak of.” She felt her hands tremble 
a little, and put down her cup of cafe au lait, ‘‘To 
keep you here with Francis actually in Paris is impos- 
sible.” 

“ But I know he is here. I have actually seen him.” 

“ Seen him ? ” Laura flushed quickly. “ Then 
why did you not tell me so ? ” She gave a dry little 
laugh of contempt. “ I have trusted you, and rather 
allowed myself to forget that Francis is your father.” 

“ I met him at Uncle Bryan’s house.” Kate collected 
herself quickly. She had intended to ask her aunt 
why she had been told nothing, and now, without 
warning, Laura was deliberately attacking her. You 
couldn’t mistake it. Aunt Laura was hostile, and 
furious, for all her slow way of speaking. 

“ That is another good reason for taking you home,” 
Miss Maxwell said. “ I had a line from Bryan this 
morning.” She glanced at her letters which lay in a 
heap on her bed. 

“ What has my father done ” Kate came and stood 
facing her. She was very pale, and there was a stern- 
ness in her eyes. The old friendship between them 
was vanishing, carried away like thin dust along the road 
of life. 

“ What has he not done ? ” Laura shrugged her 
shoulders. “ His exploits are hardly repeatable. I 
paid him to leave you with me, and he took the money 

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as a beggar would take a sixpence. He has neither 
decency nor honour, and except for Bryan, who is 
hopelessly fantastic, no man of our class would know 
him. I have kept you away from him, Kate, and you 
owe me some gratitude.” 

To ask for gratitude is not the best way of making 
people feel grateful, and Kate clenched her hands on 
the rail of the bed. 

Then I am very little better than a foundling,” 
she said, with a quick catch of her breath. 

‘‘ You can see — or I suppose you can see — the danger 
of your remaining in Paris.” Miss Maxwell went on, 
ignoring her remark, “ Without my knowledge you 
met your father ; probably you would not have said 
so, but that is neither here nor there. You can’t be 
trusted” — there was the heat of flame in her words — 
“ and I shall take you away.” 

‘‘ I met him by accident, and he did not know who 
I was.” 

If we stay here, it means that I shall never be 
sure, when you make some excuse for not coming with 
me, that you are not doing something I object to. 
You are certainly very like your father.” 

For the moment she had forgotten how angry she 
was with Robert, and only knew that Kate was the 
reason of all her suffering. There are very few people 
who can suffer really well. 

So Cousin Robert said last night.” Kate’s voice 
was as cold as a knife edge. 

‘‘ Ah, he told you that, did he ? I should like to 
know his reason ? ” 

Laura Maxwell watched her niece turn away. She 
wanted anger from her, and reproaches. She wanted 
to goad her into open war, there would be some 
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miserable satisfaction in the crash and clash of a 
scene, but Kate was intolerably quiet. 

“ I have been wrong to have kept the facts from you, 
I admit it, but one prefers to spare people who are 
very young and inexperienced,” she said. “ Watch 
yourself, Kate. Your father is a liar, and in every one 
of the affairs of life he has been treacherous and dis- 
honest.” 

“ And you hate him,” Kate said dully. 

‘‘ Hate him ? No, certainly not, that is a feeling 
we keep for people who are more or less on our own 
level. My feeling for Francis is one of utter con- 
tempt.” 

“ And I am like him ? ” The girl turned again and 
looked at her aunt as though she half hoped for some 
sign that she relented a little. 

Sufficiently so for me to see that I have been a 
fool.” 

“But what have I done ? ” There was a world of 
exasperation in Kate’s voice. “ I don’t really under- 
stand, Aunt Laurie. So far as I know I haven’t 
committed any crime, or changed in any way. I 
don’t believe you mean all you say about my father. 
Uncle Bryan spoke of him quite differently.” 

“ I exaggerate nothing,” Miss Maxwell said wearily. 
“ If your father were to get hold of you he would 
ruin you, body and soul, and I shall be forced, as 
usual, to undertake the duty of keeping you away.” 

A ray of sunlight touched Kate’s head, and under 
the gay brightness of her hair, her face was intensely 
still and pale. It was new to her to regard herself 
as the mill-stone hung around her aunt’s neck, and 
she was trying to get accustomed to the idea, baffiing 
as it was. 


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“ You owe me obedience,” Laura continued, think- 
ing of the past, the wretched present, and the heavy 
grey future. “ Of course as you say, I can’t blame 
you for what is not your fault, but if you had any 
real sense of things you would know that I have 
sacrificed myself for you to an extent you will never 
understand.” 

Kate reflected quickly, and the events of the previous 
night swept back over her. If Aunt Laura felt as 
she did, ignorant of what had actually happened, 
how would she feel if she knew the truth ? She had 
been startled into anger, and was in the minority, for 
Laura represented power and the force of arms. 
But what had become of their old reasonable- 
ness ? 

Once again she studied her aunt’s face, and realized 
that she was implacable, and then she knew that she 
herself was young and that Laura Maxwell was old. 
It was merely a fact of life, but it compensated Kate 
at that moment. 

‘‘Am I to go on eternally putting you first ? ” Laura 
said bitterly. “ I suppose I am. For heaven’s sake, 
don’t make a fuss about leaving Paris. I think we’ve 
had enough of it in any case.” 

“ I don’t believe you are fair to my father.” Kate 
clung to the one point that seemed clear. Possibly 
she had been a vampire, eating the heart out of Laura’s 
youth, and though it was not her fault, she regretted 
it quite sincerely, but she could not let the whole 
argument go without making an attempt to stand 
up for the man whom she had seen only once. 

Laura threw out her hands and laughed hysteric- 
ally. “ He and you, between you, have made my 
life what it is,” she said. “ There is no use talking 
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about it. Get ready to leave here, and tell the people 
downstairs that we are going to-night.” 

“ I won’t go.” Kate put her hands in the pockets 
of her tweed skirt, a skirt which bore the old stains 
of the muddy paws of the dogs at Clanmore. If 
Aunt Laura felt as she did, then battle let it be. 

“ You will do exactly what I say,” Miss Maxwell 
rang the beU. Go and pack, Kate, like a dear child, 
and do avoid all this ridiculous fuss.” 

‘‘ I can’t go back.” Kate broke into entreaty for 
the passing of a second. Everything has just begun, 
and you want to punish me for something I couldn’t 
help.” 

The words hit her aunt like a well-aimed blow. 

What do you mean ? ” she said frigidly. ‘‘ Have 
you been doing something else — other things you have 
hidden away ? ” 

For a second Kate wavered. It would have been 
easy, and cheap, to have told Laura that Robert, 
having made a fool of himself, had already complicated 
matters without this additional trouble, but winds 
from a distance touched her out of the grey blue of 
life’s early morning. She could not use that weapon 
to strike her aunt, and with the unstudied gallantry 
of youth, she turned away and walked to the door. 
There was nothing more to be said. 

When she had gone, Laura buried her face in her 
hands and wept. She was paying a penalty for having 
enjoyed an emotion, and emotion is costly. Out 
of the past, the words came to her like a whisper 
from forgotten years. “ The first time you and Kate 
have a row, you will tell her — Know Thyself, Laurie.” 


95 


Chapter 8 

K ate was very certain of one thing, which was 
that she would not leave Paris. To arrive 
at this was like trying to perform a miracle, but miracles 
can be performed for those who have sufficient faith. 
She reviewed the situation alone in her room, and 
having carried out her aunt’s instructions and packed 
her things, thought steadily. 

Aunt Laura had smashed a great deal in her tempest 
of feeling, and the bits lay about reproachfully, never 
to be mended again. This being the case, what use 
was there to gather them up ? 

She told Kate, in effect, that she had been her old 
man of the sea, and Kate, not unreasonably considered 
that if this were so, it was better to end the situation. 
The girl was haunted by the idea that Laura would 
discover Robert’s treachery. Perhaps Robert couldn’t 
help it ? It was odd, once one came to consider it, 
how much of life no one could help. 

Unwittingly, Kate had intervened between the two 
who might have made something out of what remained 
in their years, and, as she counted up her own sins, 
the length of the addition distressed her considerably. 
But she was equally sure that she too was an individual, 
with some small claim to individual rights of her own ; 
and to go away was more than she could bear. 

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She put on her hat and went out on to the staircase. 
Robert was in the hall below, and she hovered on the 
landing until she heard him go out. She wanted to 
avoid any meeting with him, and Aunt Laurie might 
at least tell him that the doom was fixed, it was none 
of her affair. When he had gone she ran down the 
dingy staircase and went through the hall and into 
the street. 

Her objective was her uncle’s house. Uncle Bryan 
could be trusted to give sage advice and also to discern 
some way out of the impasse. 

The sky was traced lightly with shreds of flying 
clouds, and the wind blew the water of the river into 
queer rippling flows, that broke up the reflections ; 
from behind the clouds the sunshine came out at a 
gallop and raced over trees and houses, touched the 
icy whiteness of the Sacre Coeur, and hid again, to 
repeat the same gorgeous play. It was a day to 
lift up the heart, and Kate rejoiced suddenly, like 
some one who was dead and is alive again. If she 
were the most miserable sinner, accountable for all 
the trouble of her aunt’s life, she could only throw 
a parting tribute to the mistake she had made, and 
run onwards to meet the future. She had infinite 
confidence in Uncle Bryan, and believed that he would 
help her. 

Still, it was odd to consider that only yesterday she 
had gone to his house, without, so far as she knew, a 
single real problem in her life, and now she was like 
a little state threatened by war. Uncle Bryan repre- 
sented a kind of general Embassy of humanity, and 
she was just going through the door, when Fate caught 
hold of her again. A man was coming out, and at 
once she recognized him as her father. 

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He stood still and looked at her, with his curious, 
amused eyes. Bryan is out,” he said. ‘‘ He has 
gone off to Asnieres on some mission of his own.” 

“ But — out ? ” Kate faltered. When will he come 
back ? ” 

To-night, to-morrow — never ? Who knows ? 
Are you so very sorry ? ” 

She leaned against the door. ‘‘ Sorry doesn’t 
express it,” she said, lowering her eyes. It means 
that I don’t know what to do.” 

Come, now,” — he raised his hat and looked up 
at the sky — “ that is too hopeless. Let me suggest a 
cup of coffee at the Palais Royal. It is very quiet 
there. Nothing is as bad as it seems.” 

“ It is worse,” she said, drawing a long breath, “ ever 
so much worse.” 

She walked silently beside him across the river, 
and the noise in the streets made conversation impos- 
sible until they went under the archway and found 
the comparative quiet of the garden. A fountain 
sent up joyful cascades of waters into the clear air, its 
shining fringes turning into rainbows before they fell, 
and the straight rows of trees on either side looked 
composed and regular, like military trees which had 
been well drilled. All around the dark houses brooded 
over a forgotten past, and the shops in the arcade 
seemed to have nothing at all to offer except white 
plaster Venuses and imitation jewellery. 

At the far end a little glass partition stood sur- 
rounded by flowers, and Francis opened the door and 
stood aside for Kate to pass in. She had not spoken 
a single word since they left her uncle’s house. 

“ And what is the matter ? ” he asked, as they sat 
down at a table by an open window. 

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She looked at him, her chin on her folded hands, 
searching his face almost desperately. She was wearing 
a small blue silk hat, and her hair curled up over the 
brim ; under the soft waves of gold her eyes were full 
of unspoken questions. Francis felt a curious sense 
of being most entirely the subject of her thoughts, 
and as he ordered coffee, he spoke again, repeating his 
remark. 

‘‘ You are the matter,” she said, and her lips parted 
as though a tremendous word had been spoken. 

/ am the matter ? ” He frowned and shook his 
head. He had taken off his foreign-looking black felt 
hat, and his face showed lined and hard, but his 
eyes were as amused as ever. ‘‘ Now, how can that 
be ? It is very complimentary. Mademoiselle ; especi- 
ally so for a man of my age ; but youth, I think, 
keeps its doors well closed, and by what possible means 
can I have come into your life ? ” 

Because you are my father,” she said quietly. 

He bent forward and his whole expression changed 
to one of sudden interest. ‘‘ You’re Kate ? You 
are actually Kate.” He put out his hand and caught 
her arm. What a wonderful thing life is. But 
how in the wide world has all this happened ? Where 
is Laurie ? Is she dead ? ” 

Kate shook her head silently. 

‘‘ Of course she wouldn’t be,” he agreed. She 
will make old bones. When I saw you yesterday I 
never dreamed who you were.” He looked at her 
from head to foot. You have improved since I saw 
you,” and again he laughed. The last time we met 
you were a bundle, and now you are Mademoiselle 
Printemps. That uncle of yours never gave me a 
hint.” He stared at her, preoccupied and evidently 
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pleased. But you are in some kind of fix ? What 
is it all about ? ” 

Kate’s mouth trembled a little and she looked down 
at her coffee-cup. There had been a queer pleasure 
for her in the meeting and the thunder-clap of her 
announcement, but none the less the world was still 
a place where she was menaced, and her pride had been 
deeply hurt to find that she had always been the 
unwanted guest. 

‘‘ Aunt Laurie told me that she had given me all 
her good years,” she said slowly. 

‘‘ That is just the romantic way she would express 
herself,” Francis replied. ‘‘ Laura has a good com- 
mand of English.” 

‘‘ Until the day before yesterday, I always thought 
you were dead.” 

So she killed me.” Francis laughed with sheer 
enjoyment. I thought she might. Who resur- 
rected me ? ” 

“ Uncle Bryan. He didn’t understand.” 

‘‘ And then ? ” 

‘‘ Then I met you. After you had gone. Uncle 
Bryan told me who you were.” 

And said that you ought to keep clear of 
me ? ” 

Kate nodded assent. 

‘‘ But something else must have happened. What 
made Laurie put on her fighting tackle ? ” 

I don’t know.” Kate flickered her eyelids. It 
had been a cruel interview, and the recollection of it 
hurt her. ‘‘ I went out with Robert Lewis — you knew 
him ? ” 

‘‘ I did. He was fond of Laura, but hadn’t a rap 
in those days. Heavy, dull, and quite ordinary. If 
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she had married him he would have been like a well- 
tamed performing bear.” 

“ He — well ” — Kate moved restlessly — anyhow, 
he seems to think he likes me better than Aunt Laura. 
She doesn’t know that.” She emphasized her asser- 
tion by touching her father’s wrist. ‘‘ To-day she 
was furiously angry with me, and says that I must 
leave Paris and go back with her. I have tried to 
think it out, and if she had not said that I had always 
been so much trouble and spoilt her life, I wouldn’t 
feel as I do. As it is, I have come between her and 
Robert Lewis, and if we go back again to Clanmore, 
we shall not be friends, and besides, I don’t want 
to go back.” 

‘‘ I am perfectly sure that she does know, however 
she knew it.” Francis lighted a cigarette and handed 
his case to Kate. ‘‘ She gave you a pretty lurid picture 
of me, I suppose ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, she did,” Kate agreed. 

‘‘ And then you went to Bryan. What did you 
expect him to do ? ” 

“ I thought he might help me. If I could stay 
with him even for a month while I look round. I don’t 
want to go on being a drag on anyone, and Cousin 
Robert may go back to her once I am out of the way.” 

Francis Huntingdon smoked silently. He appeared 
to be lost in a reverie that held him from speech, 
and every now and then he looked critically at Kate. 

It is just possible that Bryan might do that,” 
he said, but why should he, after all ? ” 

Kate shrugged her shoulders. There was no answer 
to that problem. 

“ Obviously, Kate, since I am your father, it seems 
to me that there is another alternative worth consider- 
loi 


Blindfold 

ing. You have heard exactly what sort of man I 
am ? ” 

Not exactly. Aunt Laurie said I was too young 
to know.” 

Tm a black sheep, anyhow.” He put his elbows 
on the table and pressed his clenched fists against 
his mouth. ‘‘ My milieu here in Paris, or elsewhere 
for that matter, is doubtful, but even so ” — he paused 
again — you’re grown up, Kate, and no fool, I take 
it. I’m strongly disposed to recapture you, if you 
think fit. It will be well in keeping with my record. 
I left you with your aunt all the time you were likely 
to be a bore to me, and now that you are grown up I 
carry you off.” He leaned back and looked at her. 
‘‘ Whether blood is thicker than water, I leave you 
to decide. Laurie, who is part nun, part harpy, 
won’t like it ; Bryan, who is secular and very wise, will 
not be able to advise you, and so you must just ask 
yourself.” 

Go to live with you ! ” Kate said, with a gasp. 

It is rather startling, but girls have lived with 
their fathers before this.” 

She clasped her hands on her knees and looked 
through the wide window at the gay lines of flowers 
planted symmetrically along the border below. Fran- 
cis Huntingdon’s suggestion had aU the element of 
unknown adventure in it which made it alluring, 
and then it would also be a perfectly legitimate retort. 
Laura Maxwell said that Francis had handed her 
over like some troublesome parcel which no one 
wanted. Both her aunt and Robert, when they were 
angry with her, accused her of being like her father. 
There would be some sweetness in replying that she 
would burden Aunt Laurie no longer, and they might 
102 


Blindfold 

rage as they pleased, for she would not go back. On 
the other hand, the man who sat waiting for her 
reply was a complete stranger to her, and she did 
not know how to judge him. Her own knowledge of 
people was so limited, and she could not guess what 
sort of existence life with him would be. A vague, 
queer life, unreasonable in its way, and yet interesting. 
She tried to lift the veil and peer into the unknown. 
Not a respectable life — she could tell that — because 
Francis had an agitating effect of having got a long 
way from places like churches or concert halls. He 
was well dressed, and had his own kind of finish and 
dignity, but it was not incompatible with the notion 
that he might eat fried potatoes in the street because 
he couldn’t afford to pay for his dinner. You could 
tell, Kate felt, that his habits were unusual, and 
that he had probably spent years of accumulated 
hours drinking absinthe and smoking, when other 
people — her own world — were in bed. 

A little crisp breeze stirred the water of the basin 
in the centre of the grass plot, and the pigeons who 
hovered round swooped down and picked up bits 
of bread thrown to them by a child ; the silence held, 
and neither Kate nor the father spoke. It was so 
very difficult to speak just then that silence seemed 
the only refuge she had. What he had said to her 
of her Uncle Bryan was perfectly true. She could 
not depend on his coming to her rescue. He might 
have to be sensible and wise on her account, and 
the wisdom of age weighs heavily on the heart of 
youth. 

Her father had none of that special wisdom. He 
offered her the unknown in place of the known, and 
adventure of indefinite kind. She did not even know 
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where he lived, or whether he had some strange 
creature who looked after him. It was awkward to 
have to face such suppositions. 

Aunt Laurie goes away to-night,” she said at last, 
“ and I shall stay with you.” 

Francis smiled at her. We are so oddly situated,” 
he said, ‘‘ but it all makes for a better appreciation 
of one another. If I had seen you every day, Kate, 
and watched you grow like the young vines, or what- 
ever it is, I couldn’t have got a real impression of 
you. As for me, you would probably not have 
liked my ways particularly, and it is possible that the 
present situation could have taken place the other 
way round. Can you see yourself fleeing to Laurie, 
and asking her for the stale loaf of Bourgeoisie^ the 
good solid comfort of an establishment. I can 
imagine it.” 

“ Do you really want me ? ” she asked suddenly. 

‘‘ I want you after the curious fashion of human 
inconsistency.” He looked at her with his jaded hand- 
some eyes. “ Whether it will be good for you, I 
don’t ask. That is one of the questions I avoid in 
life. I shall not alter myself. The flat up the hill, 
the Rue du Chateau, won’t blossom like a rose. There 
it is, your room which is empty, and mine whick 
is rather dusty, the salon and the dining-room, and 
the femme de menage^ who comes in and breaks a 
few things and then goes away again. We shall eat 
outside, because I have always done so, and you won’t 
find my friends dull. You will have to look after 
yourself, and it will be extraordinarily nice for me.” 

She felt as though he had crowned her with those 
words. Somehow or other they made all the differ- 
ence, and if she could have looked into the heart of 
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her aunt she might have been astounded and thunder- 
struck to find there the same subtle sense, that Francis 
gave one presents when he said things. 

‘‘ What shall I do ? It will be dreadfully difficult.” 
She flushed a little and looked at him anxiously. 

‘‘ Why difficult ? ” he asked. I can send for your 
luggage. You don’t propose to see Laurie, do you ? ” 
Oughtn’t I to say good-bye to her ? ” 

‘‘ Kate, you want to flagellate yourself.” He laughed 
carelessly. “ Understand, the art of exit is part of 
one’s education. What would emerge ? Tears, heart- 
burnings, tempest, and eventually a bedraggled little 
mortal who would send me a letter of farewell. After 
a month of Clanmore you would be selling your shoes 
to buy a ticket back, and you would come back, 
having hopelessly ruined your dramatic effect.” 

I thought that I ought to say good-bye, she has 
been very good to me.” 

Then be good to her. To begin with, she and 
Robert will have common cause against us both, more 
especially myself, and in the crash of disaster ” — he 
knocked the ash lightly off his cigarette — ‘‘ they may 
rediscover themselves. You are the red rag, the bone 
of contention ; remove yourself, and you do them a 
real service.” He signed to the waitress. “ We will 
go away for the day, Kate. If only people realized 
what a wise thing they do when they go away for the 
day, the trams and trains would all be crowded. All 
you need do is to keep quiet. I will send a note 
from here announcing that the devil has carried you 
off.” 

He took it all so calmly that it really seemed hardly 
to matter, Kate thought, as she watched him write 
and fold up the letter, and yet it was the most sudden 
los 


Blindfold 


and quite the most decisive step she had ever taken. 
Her father regarded it differently. Life, as he saw it, 
and obviously had also lived it, was something that 
you didn’t worry about. He was even awfully free, 
and hadn’t paid a price for his liberty. He just took 
it. 

I think that meets the situation,” he said. ‘‘ Now 
to get it sent.” He took up his hat and spoke to the 
waitress, who watched him with wide, fascinated eyes, 
and Kate followed him down the steps. She was going 
to follow him now through undiscovered lands, and 
her heart gave a quick pang of pain, but she had made 
her decision, and already she was just the least little 
bit afraid of her father. She gathered herself together, 
and he took her elbows as they retraced their way 
out under the cold archway. 

I wonder what they will say when I produce a 
full-grown daughter,” he said. 

And I wonder who ‘ they ’ are,” Kate replied. 

‘ They ’ are my world,” — he hailed a taxi — “ where 
you must find your way. It ought to be amusing as 
an experiment.” 


io6 


Chapter 9 

K ATE’S first few weeks in the Rue du Chateau 
were new enough to give her plenty to think 
of. Her freedom was complete in the sense that 
she could come and go at any hour of the day or 
night she pleased, and no one was there to offer 
the smallest objection. Aunt Laurie had gone away, 
having exchanged one or two letters with Francis, 
and written one to Kate, which made her acutely 
miserable for some days. Uncle Bryan had come to 
see her, and though he did not say much, she felt that 
he was disturbed and dissatisfied. 

Abstract opinions are very different to actual 
facts,” he said, as he looked round the room which 
she had decorated with fiowers, and made more 
habitable. You are not really impulsive, Kate, 
and when people of your type act on impulse. Pm 
afraid they usually regret it.” 

“ Oh, don’t,” — she turned to him— I want courage 
really, not advice. It isn’t that I’m not happy with 
him, but it’s all new yet. He is very good to me.” 

‘‘You’ve made a great hand of the place.” Uncle 
Bryan took up his grey felt hat and stick. “ By 
the way, I saw Robert, and he is leaving Paris. He 
asked for you. They both felt it pretty badly. Come 
and see me whenever you want to.” 

107 


Blindfold 

When he had gone Kate sat looking out of the win- 
dow. The room behind her had once belonged to 
a celebrated woman who had been one of the Queens ” 
of the quarter, and some trace of her meteoric passing 
still remained. The walls were lined with crimson 
satin, like an expensive chocolate box which has 
suffered damage with wear, and there was a good deal 
of tarnished gilding. Mirrors, dim and shadowy 
in their reflections, were let into the moulding, and 
the white marble mantelpiece was ornamented with 
cupids and garlands. The electric lights were hidden 
in crystal chandeliers, and the furniture was shabby 
and comfortable. But there it was ; nothing Kate or 
anyone else might do could exorcise the suggestion 
of Madeline Frescat, who had owned it in her black 
velvet and diamond days. She still . haunted the 
place, and Kate, in her green muslin frock with her 
sprays of rose and iris, glimmered on the surface like 
a reflection on a pool. The pool has its own secret 
depths, while the reflection is only passing in its effect. 

Doors on either side led into her own room, and 
that of her father. Both had canopied beds and very 
little other furniture. The floors were parquet, and 
now and then Lucile, the elderly femme de menage^ 
polished the boards. She did not like Kate — and 
obviously suspected that the relationship between 
her and her father was a piece of quite unnecessary 
bluff which she could not understand, and did not 
consider amusing. Beyond the fetit dejeuner^ they 
had all their meals in restaurants, and while Francis 
kept drinks at the flat, no cooking was done on the 
premises. 

There was not a rule, not an hour, that mattered ; 
nothing to be in time or to be late for. Kate could 
io8 


Blindfold 

lie in bed all day if it pleased her, and Francis regarded 
the clock as a necessary and troublesome invention, 
requiring to be wound up at regular intervals. He 
had made a fine art of indifference to all stated hours, 
and Kate was often alone. She knew, with all the 
suddenness of a falling thunderbolt, that she had 
made a fatal choice, but even its fatality could not 
altogether deprive the situation of its charm. When 
she was with her father she caught some touch of his 
own attitude, and out of her first feeling of attraction 
towards him there grew a stronger bond. World- 
stained as he was, she was somehow his, and he under- 
stood her with a justice and clearness that amazed her. 
As Bryan Maxwell said, there was the old woodland 
somewhere still in Francis Huntingdon, or some forgot- 
ten lyric that came back again on the winds, and Kate 
was able to hear it. 

He watched her with curiously intent interest 
through the first few weeks, and did nothing to hinder 
her going back to Laura had she chosen to do so. 
Though she did not know it, he was careful, and only 
allowed a chosen selection of his friends to come to 
the flat. 

“ I wonder if either of us know what the end of it 
will be ? ” he said with his amused laugh. ‘‘ Life is a 
battle-ground, Kate, and the strongest wins. I scored 
when I got you, but, eventually, who is to win ? ” 
Win what ? ” she asked, and he did not answer, 
because Charles Lestrange and de Vrie came in. 
De Vrie was a neatly built little man with the most 
carefully cultivated moustache Kate had ever seen. 
It distressed her that he used scent, and his dark 
eyes were heavy-lidded and tired, but he talked 
charmingly to her, and always alluded to her father 
109 


Blindfold 

as ‘‘ ce bon Francis He had had bad luck ; what 
it was Kate did not know, but he was disinherited, 
and while he belonged to an aristocratic family and 
was the Count de Vrie, he mixed no longer with 
those of his own kind. He spoke English with great 
fluency, and appeared to do nothing at all, for to 
him, like her father, all hours of the day or night 
were the same. 

Enfin, Mademoiselle, we must not be too serious,” 
he said, when he had greeted her with his invariable 

Comment-va-f elle ? ” I was once serious. Now 
I am emancipated. In England people are very 
serious, but in France we laugh. Like me, you have 
escaped out of that terrible respectability.” Charles 
Lestrange had walked to the window, his bald head 
shining in a shaft of sunlight and his eyes tender and 
red and like the eyes of a ferret. Kate detested him, 
but he and Francis appeared to be the closest friends. 
De Vrie was sitting down by the table, and if Lestrange 
was like a ferret, he was like a highly sophisticated 
cock sparrow. 

“ You cannot be too grateful to your Fate,” he 
said, shaking a forefinger at her. ‘‘ In England I 
had a friend once, and I remember me that she ran 
away from her husband, a bon gargon enough. I 
do not at all understand this ‘ running away.’ He 
bored her. Women are like that,” — he waved his 
hands airily. ‘‘ She re-married, Mademoiselle, and 
I thought, now I will pay my respects and see a little 
this fine freedom. I went to her house, and what 
do I find ? She is a woman of great energy, but 
now that she is no longer in that grey inferno of 
darkness, she sits there, very chic, very capable, and 
tries to get back into it once more. She does not 
no 


Blindfold 

ask that her new acquaintances should be clever, gay, 
witty — only that they shall be respectable, or at least, 
if not altogether so, that the world in general knows 
nothing of it.” He shook his head at Kate. One 
must be born a Bohemian, Mademoiselle. The good 
bourgeoise cannot change her skin, and when Grande 
Passion has stormed by, you will find her cutting bread 
and butter like Werthers’ Charlotte.” 

“ Am I a bourgeoise ? ” Kate asked, laughing. 

“ You are like early violets, and you remind us 
of our forgotten dreams,” he said, a little sadly. 

Dusty folk like Francis and myself, and the good 
Charles.” 

Kate made a grimace. I don’t think Charles 
is dusty, I think he is muddy,” she said, lowering her 
voice a little. “ Monsieur de Vrie, you have not 
really answered my question, and it is rather an impor- 
tant one. When I was in Ireland I used to think that 
I was absolutely different to the other people there. 
I wanted things they didn’t want, and I longed to 
go away. Then, when I came to Paris, I wanted a 
different Paris to the one which my aunt and Cousin 
Robert knew and tolerated rather scornfully, and 
now that I am here ” — she made a little gesture which 
included the room, her father and Lestrange in its 
scope — “ I find there is a great deal of me which isn’t 
Bohemian at all.” 

De Vrie nodded comprehendingly. ‘‘ I have a 
young relative who is the son of a mixed marriage — 
one of these strange international alliances — who 
would understand your difficulty,” he said ; ‘‘ his 
name is ” 

Not Remi Limay ? ” she asked quickly. 

“ Then you know him already ? ” the Count smiled. 

Ill 


Blindfold 

Ah well, we do not meet often, because I am a 
bad man.” 

Then I like bad men,” Kate said defiantly, and 
de Vrie got up and joined the two who were standing 
in the, window talking in lowered voices. 

Kate watched them for a little and then wandered 
into her own room. The lack of regularity in her 
life did not distress her, but from time to time she 
was aware of a keen desire to live more for herself. 
She was becoming used to restaurants and all-night 
sittings, and she missed some passionate touch of 
personal feeling in her days. She was still an observer 
standing to watch the show where others played their 
parts. Sitting on her bed, she clasped her hands 
round her knees and thought, and her thoughts 
brought her to the moment when she and Remi Limay 
had discussed life together in the corridor of the train. 
It had appeared easy enough to criticize from behind 
the safe barrier, but now that there are no barriers, 
life took on a different visage. 

She was close to it, certainly. Sometimes there 
was evidently no money, and Francis went out on 
a borrowing expedition. With no lessening of his 
usual charm he informed her once that he had sold all 
her small stock of jewellery, and for a moment the 
shock had been acute. Kate had a strong feeling that 
what was hers should remain her own, while Francis 
did not admit such limitations. 

We have to live, Kate,” he said in his leisurely 
way. It is unfortunate that the rent of the flat was 
so badly overdue. I am in with Charles for a big 
thing, and when we pull that off I will get you some- 
thing really good. At your age, what do you want 
with jewellery ? ” 


II2 


Blindfold 

He was always ‘‘ in ” with some one, and there 
was a camaraderie between him and proprietors of 
one or two underground establishments, where artists 
from somewhere or other congregated to sing, and 
drinks were served. His acquaintances and friends 
included the widest variety, and he watched Kate 
with a touch of amused interest during these first 
strange weeks of her initiation. 

She asked herself as she sat there, what she really 
felt about him, and she knew that whatever disap- 
pointments there had been, she was still prepared 
to go on. The light and noise and whirl of it all 
made for perpetual excitement, and she was too young 
and too inexperienced to see very far below the 
surface. Actually it all amounted to being on a sur- 
face of queerly coloured ice, skating for all you were 
worth, because if you paused, something would crack, 
and the depths below were not enticing. 

Robert’s love making, which had so sorely offended 
the girl, sank into complete insignificance, and she 
wondered why she had been so angry. Charles 
Lestrange had tried to make love to her — invariably 
did, if they were alone together, in his dreadful elderly 
way. Aubrey Niche, known professionally as ‘‘ Par- 
quet,” who sang at the Malgretout^ pursued her with 
at least some of the romance of youth. You grow 
used to all these things. 

So far as she could tell, her father avoided love 
affairs on his own account. He slid out of compli- 
cated situations, and was able to manage every one. 
He even borrowed from the concierge, who was a 
hard-faced woman with a vile temper, and when he 
and his colleagues collected at the Buisson Ardent^ 
the cafe they regarded as their headquarters, it was 

II3 H 


Blindfold 

lie who always had a new plan and a perpetual fresh- 
ness towards the future which the others lacked. 

The biggest part of the change was, that in the 
life of Rue du Chateau nothing mattered. None of 
the rules which held good elsewhere counted at all. 

Parquet,” for instance, only shaved occasionally, 
and no one minded ; even though he was in a state 
of folie ” about Kate, his establishment with Adrianne 
still continued its stormy existence. Kate had asked 
for the realities of life, and was getting them. The 
winds of the world were blowing in upon her, and 
to her surprise, the air was stale rather than fresh or 
refreshing. 

She was still thinking it all over when Francis opened 
the door and told her that he was going out. 

“ We shall dine at the Buisson Ardenty^ he said, 
looking at himself in a mirror that hung on the wall, 
“ and Charles wants to take you to the Bal Coquelicot, 
Do, like a good child, make yourself pleasant for half 
an hour or so. I shall get there later. By the way,” 
he added carelessly, “ you must pack your traps, 
Kate, as Fm taking you down to Maurennes, the 
change will do you good.” 

Maurennes ? ” she asked, stretching her arms 
out before her. 

‘‘ On the sea, near Medoc and Bordeaux — down 
into the wine list,” he laughed. A blue dream of 
a place.” 

But won’t it be very expensive ? ” she asked, her 
eyes a little startled. She was never quite easy about 
the question of money. Her father had a way with 
money that frightened her. 

“ De Vrie is managing rather well.” Francis gave 
an irrepressible laugh. “ One of his gilt-edged 
114 


Blindfold 

relations has a villa down there, and Georges has 
persuaded her to lend it to him. She is the only one 
left who will speak to him, and he got round her.” 
He watched her half cautiously. Paris is getting 
rather hot, in all senses of the word, and it’s time to 
move.” 

And the flat ? ” All at once the flat appeared 
to be an ark of refuge, and she knew that she did not 
want to leave it. 

I shall hand the flat over to Duphot, Parquet’s 
boss,” her father replied indifferently. He wants 
it.” 

But he has a house of his own, I’ve seen it,” Kate 
objected. 

Never mind. If he likes to have two, I see no 
reason against it, so long as he pays the rent.” Francis 
patted her shoulder. ‘‘ Ah, Kate, life is a queer game 
when you have to play it with your wits. Are you 
sorry you came off with me ? ” His eyes were kind 
as he looked at her, and he spoke again after a pause. 

Perhaps I ought to leave you on Bryan’s doorstep. 
He’s a good fellow.” 

No,” she said, with a passionate touch of reproach. 

I won’t be left behind. I chose to come with you, 
and if it weren’t for Charles, and Parquet, I could be 
absolutely happy here.” She stood beside him and 
put her arms round his neck. “ I’m your daughter, 
Francis, and there is a lot of you in me. It’s having 
to be a kind of relation of the others that I don’t 
really like.” 

That’s it,” he agreed, ‘‘ but then, when you took 
me you had to take the others in with the bargain. 
We live the same life, borrow from each other, and 
get along because it would be ridiculous to hide facts. 
IIS 


Blindfold 

Your decent people can’t afford honesty, Kate. I’m 
not posing as an honest man,”— he put his hand under 
her chin — and you are in with me. Charles makes 
love to you because he’s that sort, and I can’t help 
it. There is only one person on earth who can look 
after you, and that is Kate herself. So long as you 
don’t care about Charles ” 

“ Why do you have him as a friend ? ” 

Oh ” — Huntingdon shrugged his shoulders — ‘‘ any 
amount of reasons. He isn’t such a bad sort.” 

She knew it was no use arguing with him. There 
was no argument that ever really held with Francis. 
In his way, he was the leader of the group, and years 
of this life lay behind him. He gambled with the 
younger men whom Lestrange collected, but never 
went in search of pigeons on his own account. Quite 
probably he did not even play fair, and he invested, 
when he was in funds, in places like the Malgretout 
and drank with the patron, who bowed before him 
when he arrived. Duphot, who owned a music hall 
and cafe, was prepared to meet Francis as an equal, 
and Parquet offered a slavish worship to Kate’s 
father. 

‘^Even if I am declasse in a sense that you and I 
understand,” he said with a curious touch of vanity, 
‘‘I am cock of this roost, Kate, you’ll admit that 
much.” 

“ If only you and I could be away by ourselves,” 
she said, stifling a sigh. 

‘‘It wouldn’t work.” He walked 'to the window 
and looked out. “ You can’t patch an old garment, 
my girl. It would be like trying to reclaim a savage. 
Something would happen, and original instincts can’t 
be hushed to sleep.” He turned and looked at Kate. 
ii6 


Blindfold 

Her young arms showed round and delicate in her 
thin dress, and her small head was lifted proudly. 
Her beauty was so intrinsically fine that it struck 
him almost as it had the first day he saw her in his 
brother-in-law’s house. Again a look of tenderness 
crossed his dark face. The essential thing in her, her 
soul, looked at him through her eyes, and then sank 
away again as she danced a few light steps across the 
room. 

‘‘ Very well,” she said. “ To-night is my last 
night in Paris for some time, and to-morrow we go 
to Maurennes. I shall live your life and make the 
best of it.” 

Kate dressed herself carefully, having plenty of 
time before she shut the door of the flat behind her 
and went up the steep street to the Buisson Ardent, 
It was a curious little burrow of a place with a number 
of small rooms opening off a passage, the third room 
from the bar at the entrance being the one where 
Francis and his friends always dined. The food was 
good, and the wine, served in little stone jugs, was 
inexpensive. As she passed in through the door the 
patron greeted her and told her that the party had 
already assembled. 

They were sitting there at a long table as she 
paused by the door, and beside Charles Lestrange a 
woman whom she knew well by sight, and who went 
by the name of ‘‘ Amere Piquante,” was leaning on 
his shoulder, pinching his ear coquettishly. Her 
father sat opposite and de Vrie was beside him. 
Francis, of course, looked different. He always did 
and could look as though he didn’t belong to the 
rest, and de Vrie had not the unmistakable mark of the 
beast, exactly, but he had so evidently fallen from 
117 


Blindfold 

grace, and it showed in his tie and his hands and, 
somehow, in the very way he brushed his hair ; as for 
Lestrange, he looked exactly what he was. 

Kate felt the colour flood upwards to her forehead. 
Her father must have known that Amere Piquante 
was to be of the party, and had deliberately sup- 
pressed the fact, and as she stood in the doorway he 
caught her reflection in the mirror behind the table 
and called to her to join them. She went forward 
stiffly and took the vacant place and Amere Piquante 
kissed her fingers to Kate. She was a cheerful, com- 
monplace woman, handsome and bold, with a soul which 
was fired with no special ideal further than getting 
as much money as she could. Her life was a nocturnal 
one, during the hours in which she blew tin trumpets 
and threw silk balls at steady-looking men who were 
out for adventure, and Lestrange appeared to find 
some zest in her company. 

A young Englishman and his wife watched the party 
from a table opposite, and evidently regarded them 
all as part of the show, the kind of thing they had 
expected when they decided to come to Paris, and 
Kate looked at them with icy eyes of anger. She 
felt oddly sensitive and miserable for a moment, and 
wished that Amere Piquante would not talk so much 
and so loud. 

Francis Huntingdon was thinking of something 
distant, and hardly noticed Kate, so that she turned 
to de Vrie, who smiled at her cheerfully. 

“ There was once a little boy,” he said, who was 
asked whether the sun went round the earth or the 
earth round the sun, and he was so anxious to be correct 
that he said they took it in turns, one going round one 
day, and the other the next. To my idea, Mademoi- 
ii8 


Blindfold 

selle, he was not so far wrong really.” He raised his 
eyebrows. ‘‘ It makes one giddy. Wait until you 
come to Maurennes.” 

‘‘ Will the sun go round the earth when I do ? ” 
she asked. The English had paid their addition and 
left, and she felt less enraged with life. Amere 
Piquante was behaving quite nicely and Charles and 
her father talking in lowered voices together. 

‘‘ My aunt — for even at my age I have still an aunt 
— has lent me her villa, because she hopes it may reform 
me,” de Vrie said pleasantly. She is an incorrigible 
optimist, and from time to time she comes to my 
assistance. Now it is with a good book, now with a 
muffler, now, though not often, with a cheque, and 
this time, because she believes that she has not long 
to live, with the offer of her villa by the sea. This 
is to work the miracle. Ah ” — he leaned back — I like 
to think of all the masses said for my soul. It is 
chic.” 

“ Are you coming to the Bal Coquelicot ? ” Kate 
asked. 

De Vrie shook his head. Not I.” 

‘‘You never come to a dancing ? ” she said, frown- 
ing. The idea of going on alone with Lestrange and 
Amere Piquante did not appeal to her in the least. 

“ But you will find plenty of partners. Young 
men who can do these queer dances of yours,” he 
said in his friendly way. “ Go and amuse yourself. 
Mademoiselle.” 

Francis had got up from his seat and was waiting 
for de Vrie with a look of impatience on his face. 
“ Georges, you really must hurry,” he said almost 
sharply. “ We shall come and collect you later, 
Kate, and perhaps go on to La ButteJ^ 


Blindfold 

She watched them go with a forlorn sense of being 
left almost terribly to herself, and Amere Piquante 
laughed, for she always laughed, not that there was 
anything special to laugh at. 


120 


Chapter i o 

T he Bal Coquelicot was in full swing when Lestrange 
and his party arrived. It stood half-way up 
the steep hill of Montmartre and was a large place 
with rambling underground regions where there were 
shooting galleries and side-shows, which no one ever 
went near, but which formed rather stifling catacombs 
below the great dancing-hall. The ball-room was 
vast, and lay like a big island surrounded by a kind 
of moat where little tables were set, with a dais at 
the end for the band, and the bandsmen had a familiar 
way with the clients, calling to them by name and 
lounging between the items of the programme, while 
they smoked cigars and drank iced drinks. In fact 
the band took the whole affair in rather a high-handed 
fashion of their own. 

Overhead, there was a whole Aladdin’s garden of 
coloured hghts hanging like luminous fruit from the 
ceiling, and if you were very young indeed, you might 
possibly imagine the place to be a kind of fairy palace. 
The princesses who danced inside the ring of tables 
were gay enough to watch so long as the illusion 
lasted, and there were plenty of them. Some of them 
looked young and innocent and behaved demurely, 
and some were dressed in what approached to fancy 
dress, with their hair in curls, brushed straight back 
I2I 


Blindfold 

from white foreheads. Some wore plain coats and 
skirts, and others only a few ribbons and flimsy ballet 
skirts, so that the contrast was strongly deflned, but 
there was a general aroma of powder and scent, and 
an odd suggestion of fruit that has ripened too fast 
to be quite natural. 

Everywhere there were women. Sitting on the 
high stools by the bar at the less expensive side of 
the room, dancing together while they dealt out 
smiles like experienced card players dealing a pack 
of cards, or gathering round the tables on the cham- 
pagne side of the Bal. The feeling the place gave 
to Kate was vague, though she had not been there 
before, and the ugly noise made by the band added 
to the tumult and the laughter. It was an orgy of 
middle-aged romanticism and realism combined, for, 
quite obviously, many of the men who were there 
were in search of their lost youth. Ages ago, as Kate 
saw it, they had danced there when they were slim 
and young, and some mirth wave had washed them 
back to Paris, and sent them to the same old shore 
with its music and its laughter that echoed like a 
ghostly recollection of distant times. She seemed 
to catch an authentic glimpse of a past with which she 
had no connexion, but she could not supply the 
forgotten story which matched with the Can-can^ 
or the painted faces and tired eyes of the women 
who danced it so tragically badly. 

In the glare of the limelight turned on for the 
celebrated dance, Kate sat away in the shadows 
and looked on. Lestrange seemed touched and soft- 
ened, and Amere Piquante leaned wearily on his 
shoulder, and Kate, erect as a ramrod, watched, 
and found it unbearable. The music had no charm 
122 


Blindfold 

for her, with its sudden return to sentimental tune 
which aggravated her, and Lestrange in his youthful 
moments was as objectionable as an old man dressed 
up as a boy. They had shelved her definitely as they 
whispered together, and she had lost her old courage 
a little, when she had been able to look around her 
and watch the faces of the men and women. Quite 
close to her a fat Jewish man whom she knew by sight 
was sitting alone at a table, and interested in the high 
kicking in progress on the shining boards of the 
dancing-room. His face was heavy, and naked, 
rather than clean-shaven, and she remembered that 
in their set he went by the name of ‘‘ Bebe Cadum,” 
because of an advertisement that was all over the 
hoardings of Paris, of a large baby with a cake of 
soap. He was credited with being tremendously 
rich, and she looked away from him at once because 
she knew that if he caught her eye he would 
pounce. 

In her heart she began to realize that if she had 
gone to the Bal Coquelicot with Robert — ages and 
ages ago — it would have been an adventure, but now 
it was like walking on swords, you had to step so 
carefully. 

The Can-can finished, and a very moderate and half- 
hearted round of applause greeted its conclusion more 
as if most of the audience were glad that it was over. 
A well-dressed woman with two highly expensive- 
looking men made her voice heard in the pause. 
She was explaining that her Cousin Willy had “ man- 
aged ” something about her passport for her. 

“ How people get on who have no relations at the 
Legation, I canH imagine,” she said, as she surveyed 
the room. She was a bird of passage, and her insolent 
123 


Blindfold 

effect of disdain for her surroundings made her quite 
magnificent. 

‘‘ Come and dance,” Amere Piquante said, catching 
Kate by the neck with a sweep of her arm. “ You 
must let them see you.” 

With no heart for dancing Kate got up and they 
slid off together, Amere indulging in a thousand 
atrocities which she invented as she went along, 
swinging Kate off her feet and drawing as much fire 
as she could. 

Un feu de she said again and again. ‘‘ And 
smile, ma fetite,'^'^ 

Kate’s mind detached itself from her body and she 
saw the eyes that watched them. Bebe Cadum 
was amused, and laughed loudly as they passed by his 
table. Lestrange, who had become almost bourgeois, 
sat like a sentimental ferret and watched the antics of 
Amere Piquante with real admiration, and everything 
was confused to Kate, as though some one had asked 
her a simple riddle to which the answer was hopelessly 
baffling. She was thankful when the music stopped 
and she could sit down again. But her peace was not 
for long, as a young man with wild hair and eyebrows 
and teeth which were all set in gold, came towards 
her with an encouraging smile and asked her to dance. 
She shook her head and made no reply, and one of 
the women wearing ballet skirts ran forward and seized 
the discarded treasure. Men were scarce at the 
Bal Coquelicot and not to be wasted on little chicken 
who had no sense. Every one believed that at the 
Bal Coquelicot one must be gay, and so the band 
crashed and the bandsmen shouted, and pandemonium, 
which is often as good an excuse as any other for 
gaiety, rose with the passing hours of the night. 

124 


Blindfold 

Amere Piquante, locked in the arms of Lestrange, 
had forgotten all about Kate, who with her knees 
crossed and her hands on the table before her, waited 
for Francis. Bebe Cadum, after a few snorts in her 
direction, had capitulated to a practised warrior with 
a black velvet patch on her cheek and a white face 
with crimson lips, who was eating peaches with the 
vigour of one who gets a good percentage for her 
toil. 

The evening’s entertainment must have been half 
through when Kate awoke to life again with a shock 
that made her feel as though her arms were paralysed. 
A man had come in and was standing by the door, 
not far from where she sat. He took no notice of 
the women who sat near the bar, and his purpose 
was not wholly clear, but when she saw him, Kate 
felt that she wanted to get under the table and dis- 
appear from sight. The last time she had seen 
Remi de Limay, was at her uncle’s house, and there had 
been something of the quality of a frustrated dream 
in her thoughts of him. To meet him again, chaper- 
oned, save the mark, by Lestrange and Amere Piquante, 
would be too bitter an experience to be endured. 
Yet to see him there from her solitary place, pursued, 
and perhaps conquered and carried off by the girl in 
pale blue with a silk hat crowned with roses, who 
was still dancing with one of the sisterhood, would 
be hateful beyond expression. 

They were circling towards him while she watched, 
and an icy feeling touched her heart. 

Quite suddenly Kate wished herself dead. She 
had asked for life, like the King in the Psalms, and 
here was life,” in the accepted sense of the word. 
She revolted from it, hated it, longed to escape. 
125 


Blindfold 

Those long eventless days in Clanmore, the smell 
of the syringa bushes in the sun and the great quiet 
mind of the country which rose out of a long past, 
touched her and manifested itself strangely in the 
noisy ball-room, and her mouth curved into a line of 
yearning and restlessness. She was wrong here. 
Caught into a desolating mist of bewilderment, her 
eyes clouded with unexpected tears, fought back 
directly they came, and she turned her back deliber- 
ately to the door. Whatever happened, she had to 
wait for Francis, and then they were going on to 
La Butte, a cabaret on the top of the sand-hills. 

She felt that she must fix her mind upon facts ; 
if she could only have a railway time-table to read, 
it might have helped her, but failing that, she repeated 
a poem she had learnt from Aunt Laurie when she 
was six years old. 

Monsieur le Cure down the street 
Comes with his kind old face, 

And his coat worn bare and his straggling hair 
And his . . 

What else was it he had ? She pressed her hands 
together. How ridiculous trying to remember with 
all that noise going on. The band was playing 
‘‘ Avec le Sourire ” and it fought against her memories. 
She must leave out that bit, and come back to it 
presently. 

^^Tou can see him pass by the little Grande Place 
And the tiny Hotel de Ville, 

He smiles as he goes at the fleuriste Rose 
And the Pompier, Pheophiler 

Bebe Cadum was getting up to dance at the bidding 
of the peach eater, and he staggered a little in his 
126 


Blindfold 

walk. In a minute or two, Remi de Lemay would 
dance past with the girl in the pale blue silk dress, 
and there was nothing for it but to grasp hold of 
“ Monsieur le Cure.” 

Kate took a flying leap into the middle of the 
poem. 

And a grander way for the Sous-Prefet 
And a how for ManCselle Ann^ 

And a mock of-hat to the Notary"* s Cat 
And a nod to the SacristanN 


She remembered that verse easily, because there 
was a line of ands ” as you read straight down, and 
a line of a’s it had been easy to remember. The 
tight feeling in her wrists and at her heart relaxed 
a little ; quite soon she would be sure of herself 
again. 

“ And ever through life the Cure goes . . 

“ What brought you here ? ” 

There was no greeting in the question, which was 
asked almost angrily, and Kate looked up into Remi 
Limay’s eyes. 

‘‘ Why did you interrupt me ? ” she said, as he 
sat down, taking the empty place between her and 
Lestrange. I have just remembered it, and what 
I wanted was “ Green umbrella case.” She spoke 
breathlessly. 

“ I don’t know what you are talking about,” he 
said, as a waiter who had marked him with an intem- 
perate and eagle eye approached. ‘‘ You’ll have 
some champagne — we have to, anyhow. Where is 
your uncle, and what did you say about an umbrella ? ” 
I was trying to remember a poem I once knew 
127 


Blindfold 

and it came, just as you arrived,” she said rather 
lamely. 

“ And do you often come alone to the Bal Coquelicot 
and recite poetry to yourself. Mademoiselle ? ” he 
asked. 

“ No, not often.” She laughed in spite of herself, 
he looked so grim in his angry mood. 

And your uncle ? ” he asked again. ‘‘ I can’t 
understand. He was out of Paris yesterday, and has 
been for weeks.” 

It’s rather like him,” she nodded as though 
making a mental note. Uncle Bryan is most awfully 
nice when he is there, but he goes away too much. 
Depending on him is rather like building a house 
on a mirage.” 

“ Then your aunt ? Is your cousin here ? ” 

I had better tell you,” she said and she looked 
at him steadily so that, as Francis had seen her soul 
rise to the surface and look at him, Remi de Limay 
saw it again in a flash. I don’t belong to them 
any longer. I found my father, you see, and I am 
living with him in the Rue du Chateau.” 

But even if you are,” he said argumentatively, 
‘‘ it’s not the Bal Coquelicot, Is your father here ? ” 

“ He is coming later on,” she said reluctantly. 
Somehow she did not want them to meet, and then 
de Vrie, who was a relation of Remi’s too ... it was 
all so impossible. ‘‘ I came here ” — she lifted her head 
and looked for a moment as truculent as he did himself, 

with a friend of his, Mr. Lestrange, who is sitting 
just behind you.” 

Remi turned and stared silently at the couple 
who, with their heads together, leaned over the table 
at his back. When he looked at her again she found 
128 


Blindfold 

it hard to meet his eyes. Those people ? ” he asked. 

‘‘ Yes, just those people.” A rage to protect 
Francis overwhelmed her. “ He isn’t like that,” 
she said, but he never judges anyone. He is most 
wonderfully wide-minded, and he likes Lestrange.” 

‘‘ And you have been sitting here repeating poetry.” 
He pushed a glass across the table towards her. ‘‘ It 
is very unusual. Mademoiselle, but quite the best 
way of passing the time.” 

‘‘ Why did you come ? ” she asked. 

“ God knows.” He shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘ I 
never do come here, and what brought me I can’t 
tell you. I had a fit of restlessness, and wanted 
exercise, because I am sick of Paris and I am going 
away.” 

“ Where to ? ” she said, looking at the solemnly 
dancing figures passing along the shining floor. 

“ It’s nothing I particularly want to do,” he said. 
‘‘ I have to go to Maurennes.” 

Kate said nothing. 

At least I must go there soon,” he added. We 
have some vineyards near Medoc and it’s my business 
to go down once a year and look after things. One 
of my aunts who is an extremely foolish and kind 
old lady has lent her villa to a relative of mine who 
is a black sheep, and like most good people, she had 
a fit of reaction, having done what she had, so now 
she suggests that I shall stay at Maurennes and prevent 
Georges de Vrie from selling the furniture, which 
he would otherwise do, or filling the house with his 
friends, which he certainly will.” 

Again Kate was silent and did not look up. 

You probably don’t know where Maurennes is,” 
he added. 


129 


I 


Blindfold 

‘‘ Oh yes I do, it’s down in the wine list,” she 
spoke quickly. 

“ Come and dance,” he suggested. “ After all, 
we are here. Mademoiselle, wouldn’t it be foolish 
to waste it since we are ? ” 

Kate danced with him mechanically. She was 
wondering whether she ought to tell him that de 
Vrie’s house party was already invited, and that she 
was one of the wicked flock, and she tried to think 
of some way in which she might tell him naturally. 

If Georges de Vrie is so wicked,” she said, ‘‘ why 
does your aunt like you to be with him ? ” 

“ It gives me a good character,” he suggested. 
‘‘ But tell me about yourself and your father. Have 
I ever met him, I wonder ? ” 

“ His name is Francis Huntingdon,” she said as 
the music ceased, and they went back to the table. 
Amere Piquante roused herself and waved a hand 
of encouragement to Kate, and Lestrange pulled 
himself together and got up and spoke to her. 

“ Look here, little girl,” he said, “ you seem to 
be enjoying life, and Francis is sure to come sooner 
or later. I’ve an appointment and have to clear off. 
Perhaps you can hang on until that rufflan and de 
Vrie roll up ? ” 

He did not wait for her to reply but gathering 
Amere Piquante with a glance like a reaper, they 
went off through the doors at the end of the room. 

“ You shouldn’t be here with a brute like that,” 
Limay said, all his late anger rising in him, but he 
felt how useless it was to blame her for what was 
obviously not in any way her fault, and he smiled 
at her and swept her off to dance again. It was no 
use wasting fun,” as it were, she was a perfect 
130 


Blindfold 

dancer in her oddly frigid way. As he thought of 
her, troubled intensely by the whole situation, he felt 
that she was like a May morning when the faint clean 
frost of over-night still lies on the deep grass and in 
the cold transparent shadows. He thought of her 
aunt,'' the most authentically well-bred woman any- 
one could wish to see, with her rather faded beauty 
and her strong blue eyes, and of Cousin Robert, 
who at least represented a very definite standard 
of class prejudice and good tailoring. Then there 
was Bryan Maxwell, as well known in Paris as though 
he had been born there, with the entree everywhere, 
even into the most close-held fastnesses of aristocratic 
French society; his niece was the last person one 
would expect to meet at such a place as the Bal 
Coquelicot. But then she had a father — a strange 
parent indeed, and Remi remembered vaguely that 
he had heard of him. 

Lestrange’s parting words had given him the clue, 
and he knew that Georges de Vrie, following the 
way of the man whose house had been empty, swept 
and garnished, had taken in ten devils worse than 
himself, and the name of Francis Huntingdon was 
certainly one of the ten. ^ 

‘‘ Do you like living with your father ? ” he asked 
when the blue lights turned on during the Tango, 
according to the ritual of the Bal Coquelicot^ had 
become red and yellow again, and they sat down once 
more. 

‘‘ My father is a wonderful man.” She said as 
though she dared him to contradict her. You 
and I might not be able to understand him. Monsieur 
de Limay, but he is.” 

She knew now that they would have to meet, if 

131 


Blindfold 

not that night, certainly at Maurennes, and she was 
already armed for his defence. 

Your aunt must miss you dreadfully,” he said. 

But Francis is my father, and you don’t under- 
stand how much that means,” Kate spoke emphatically. 
‘‘ I know that most of us think parents are people 
who interfere with one’s life, and that we owe them 
nothing ; I used to think so, but now, I don’t know 
. . .” she paused and looked at him with a worried 
line between her eyebrows. I don’t pretend that 
life is in the least the same as it used to be, but some- 
times he and I have days together which make up for 
a lot. I can talk to him,” she said, as though it 
explained everything. 

You can talk to him ? ” Remi nodded. His own 
father had died too long ago for much possibility of 
conversation between them, and his mother was a 
woman with whom one instinctively fenced — ^you 
certainly did not talk to her in any real sense. ‘‘ I 
am sorry I spoke as I did about Georges de Vrie,” 
he went on, though it is quite true. Is he a friend 
of yours ? ” 

Oh yes ” — she fiddled with a little paper fan — 
he is jnost awfully kind, always.” 

It occurred to Remi to wonder why honesty and 
kindness were so frequently on bad terms with one 
another, both being virtues, but before he could 
speak again Kate stood up. 

Here is my father,” she said, and Francis Hunting- 
don came through the crowd to where they sat. 

This is Monsieur de Limay,” she said, putting her 
hand on his arm, “ I met him coming over to France, 
and afterwards at Uncle Bryan’s.” 

The two men looked at each other with a measuring 
132 


Blindfold 

glance, and Francis was the first to speak. I am 
taking Kate on to La he said in quite a friendly 

way. ‘‘ I expect she has had enough dancing for 
one night. Where is Lestrange ? ” 

“ He went away half an hour ago,” de Limay said, 
trying to keep a touch of hostility out of his voice. 

Undependable devil,” Francis commented care- 
lessly. ‘‘ Come along, Kate,” and then, half as an 
after-thought, ‘‘ I suppose you wouldn’t care to come 
too ? ” 

I should very much.” De Limay looked at Kate, 
but she did not appear to be listening. She was tired, 
he could see that, and a kind of schoolgirlish untidiness 
about her gave her the look of a grown-up child. She 
had not learnt to put on her clothes with the steady 
finish of an adept, and some of her hair-pins had been 
lost, so that stray bits of her hair were waving down 
her neck. 

‘‘ You have been to La Butte^ of course,” Hunting- 
don said in his smooth rather insolent way, and he 
evinced a half-scornful surprise when Remi said he 
had not. “ It is the last remaining cabaret in Paris,” 
he explained. “Asa Frenchman I thought you would 
certainly know it.” 

De Limay did not reply that sometimes he was by no 
means French, and just at that moment he felt that 
he was an Irish conservative, with every prejudice 
known to the caste bristling like the prickles of a 
porcupine. 


133 


chapter 1 1 

I T was pleasant to get out into the streets after 
the atmosphere of the Bal Coquelicot, and Kate 
revived at once. Bed was the last place she ever 
wanted to be in at the usual hours, and the long steep 
streets, the towering flights of steps leading upwards 
to the summit of Montmartre were darkly mysterious 
at that hour. She walked between Francis and Remi, 
their shadows falling now before and now behind 
them, as they passed under solitary lamps, jutting 
out on iron frames from street corners. Closed 
shutters over the windows added to the sense of 
mystery, and night, with a clear sky and waning 
moon, showed in strips over the roofs. Far below 
them, other houses and gardens slept, or pretended 
to sleep, and the great tide of brick and stone swept 
down to the black line of the Seine. The Sacre 
Coeur stood up unimaginably huge and splendid 
above them, and the wind over the sand-hills cold 
and clear, the river having given it a chilly kiss as 
it passed on. There was loneliness abroad in the 
night, and people who passed in dark groups had a 
furtive air and looked around them frequently as 
though they half feared attack. Now and then a 
shout of laughter came from behind closed doors, or 
voices of men and girls blown along by the wind, 

134 


Blindfold 

out of the vague desolation. Not a single agent was 
to be seen anywhere, for, as Francis explained, at 
Montmartre at that hour you took your own chances. 

They left the ragged sails of a derelict windmill 
on their left, and went along a squalid street where 
not even a dog or cat appeared to be awake. The 
loneliness was strangely artificial, and Kate felt a little 
streak of cold run down her spine. 

Stuck down in a corner where several ways met 
there was a small house where the door stood open 
and a stream of yellow light issued rather like a cubist’s 
idea of Jacob’s ladder, and it was towards this point 
that Francis directed their steps. A narrow, flagged 
pathway led to the entrance, and going through the 
door Kate found herself in a very small bar with a 
zinc counter, where a sulky looking woman was washing 
glasses, and a young man in khaki trousers and a red 
shirt served drinks. He nodded to Francis and stared 
at Kate, not without astonishment, and to Remi 
he accorded a look of definite unfriendliness. 

A flight of steps led upwards from the end of the 
small room where the entrance beyond was covered 
with a red curtain, and in a dead silence Kate heard 
the voice of a man reciting. With a passionate utter- 
ance, so strong and at the same time so hopeless, 
he seemed to pour his whole soul into his poem. 
Though she did not hear distinctly, she followed the 
rise and fall of the rhythm with something approach- 
ing his own passion of emotion, and then it was all 
over and a round of applause followed. 

Come on quickly,” Francis said, speaking in 
French, and they stumbled up the uneven staircase 
into a room where the air was thick with smoke, so 
that for a few minutes Kate could hardly see. 

I3S 


Blindfold 

The room was not a large one, and it was suffocatingly 
hot. All round the walls there were wooden benches, 
with tables before them, and one or two trestles in 
the centre. At the doorway they were met by an 
old man who looked like a travesty of Father Christ- 
mas. His face was red and his beard and hair snow 
■ white ; his eyes under his round fur cap were keen and 
small ; he wore a shirt of very doubtful cleanliness, 
and high boots into which his trousers were stuffed. 
Under his arm he carried a mandoline. At his heels 
a mangy dog followed his master, barking occasionally 
as though he were crying “ Help ! help ! ” or sat down 
to attend to the most irritating of the fleas which 
bit him sorely. 

It is you. Monsieur,” the old man said, and he 
shook hands with Francis, and proceeded to make 
a place for them, smacking a girl who sat in one of 
the corners, and ordering her away, and then driving 
out a young man with dank black hair and short 
side-whiskers. Neither of them took his attentions 
amiss. The girl, who was a beautiful creature, kissed 
him, the young man found a stool for himself, and 
Kate slipped in behind the table with Remi beside 
her, and her father opposite, on a rickety chair. 

You shall hear Levant to-night,” the old man 
said with a cackling laugh. “ She finds need to 
pour out her soul.” 

Francis glanced at Kate and his eyebrows went up 
very slightly. I wonder how much French you 
understand,” he said, and then he laughed with his 
usual careless indifference. 

Kate was interested, and looked round her when 
her eyes had become accustomed to the thickness of 
the air. The room was smoke-blackened, and the once 
136 


Blindfold 

whitewashed walls had been decorated with frescoes 
by a whole generation of painters who caricatured the 
clientele or the artists of La Butte, The Patron, whose 
name was Servais, had been painted more than once, 
and various ideas of what La Butte symbolized splashed 
the walls. The colours were faded and had sunk to 
a negative yellowish-brown, toning in with the smoke 
and the time stains. Opposite to where she sat there 
was a doll’s castle with turrets and windows, where 
three or four white rats flitted in and out, and accepted 
food from the clients, worldly well-fed rats who had 
no fear of the human race. 

At the far end of the room from where she sat, 
a large crucifix occupied the centre of the wall, and 
a tortured Christ hung forward with bent head. 
The figure was nearly life-size, and the cleverness of 
the carving atoned for its roughness, while it added 
the last touch to the strangely morbid effect of 
the place. Below it, a row of men and women sat 
drinking and talking, but not with any effect of mirth, 
and as she looked at her neighbours Kate realized 
that she was in a strange place indeed, devoid of gaiety, 
devoid of charm, but intensely definite and even 
compellingly real. 

Yet were they real ? Her very youth prevented 
her from answering the question. They were acidly 
cynical, and had a cultivated taste — she knew that from 
the quality of the poem which she had heard — and 
they were leagued together in a kind of intellectual 
defiance. They trusted in unrestrained spontaneity, 
had no faith in the heroic ; they believed in evil and 
pain and were all young. The poet, who had retired 
into a corner, was probably only a few years older than 
Kate herself. 


137 


Blindfold 

“ They are a perverse generation,” Francis said, 
as the young man in the red shirt served them drinks 
in his angry way. “ Do you really mean to tell me, 
de Limay, that you never knew of La Butte ? I 
have been coming here for years, and you will admit 
that they have courage — at least, you will when you 
have heard Levant.” 

Which is she ? ” Remi asked. 

“ Over there in the corner. She is hardly twenty, 
but looks older.” He indicated a woman who was bent 
double with laughter as she lighted a cigarette. She 
will be coarse in a year or two, but life is short in 
La Butte^ so it doesn’t much matter.” 

If the women at the Bal Coquelicot had been gaily 
dressed, those at La Butte were plainly clad to the 
point of shabbiness, but they were as individual as 
the others had been collective, and therein lay a whole 
world of difference, though the men with their short 
side-whiskers or long hair were far more artificial 
in their effect. There was a camaraderie between 
most of them which was simple, and the girl, whom 
Servais had pushed out to make room for Francis 
and Kate, went round drinking from any glass that 
she seemed to fancy, and eventually sat down on the 
knees of a stout young man who wore a bowler hat. 
and belonged, so Francis explained to his daughter, 
to a well-known theatrical company. La Butte was 
not exactly a dwelling-place for social morality, but 
the humanities of life as well as the Arts had a hotne 
there. All at once Servais began to sing. He was 
old and wicked, and his song was indescribably vile ; 
he whined it out in his thin trembling voice, tinkling 
a berceuse accompaniment on his guitar. 

De Limay watched Kate, but she only laughed as 

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she caught a word here and there that amused her, 
and the rest of the company rocked with mirth. 

He is clever, that old devil,” Francis said, when 
the song was finished and the wooden plate handed 
round for subscriptions. Not exactly a puritan 
standard of ideas, but remarkably well done. I 
always come here when I have been meeting too many 
Americans.” ^ 

How do you like it, Mademoiselle ? ” de Limay 
asked. 

Kate, her elbows on the table, was wrapt in a kind 
of dream. The place had caught hold of her, and 
she felt that she was receiving some private illumina- 
tion that gripped her intensely, and already a pale 
boy of about nineteen was singing in a way that tore 
at her heartstrings. She could understand every 
word of his chanson^ Uheure de Retour , and her 
eyes were eloquent. 

With all its mordant atmosphere, she felt that La 
Butte was not unlike a human soul, and the relation 
it bore to Francis was clear in her mind. Leaving 
out identity and bringing it to some hidden point 
where like meets like, even as between places and 
people, she felt that Francis had something of the 
same character, and she looked at him with sudden 
devotion showing in her eyes. He smiled back at 
her. 

“ I knew you would like it,” he said with a touch 
of satisfaction. 

Remi leaned back against the wall and hated Francis 
Huntingdon even more than he hated La Butte, and 
the obscene old man whose song had been as ghastly 
as a dog biting a child. What did Huntingdon mean 
by his conduct towards his daughter ? Letting her 

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go to the Bal Coquelicot with Lestrange and Amere 
Piquante, and then taking her on to this drenched 
atmosphere of intellectual garbage, tempered by love 
songs. He admitted the strange, sudden purity of 

Vheure de Retour^^ but it was only given to heighten 
the effect — you must have some light or the shadows 
cannot show sufficiently murky. Pierre d’Anthou was 
reciting again, leaning against the red curtain, his face 
as white as wax, his dark eyes mischievous and alive 
with intelligence, and his golden voice playing tricks 
with everybody’s nerves. He was clever, and at that 
moment he was blasphemous in a highly cultivated 
and even polite fashion. D’Anthou was never brutal, 
but his tenderness was terrible, and every now and 
then his eyes strayed to where Kate sat, and when he 
had finished he joined Francis, who patted him on 
the shoulder and laughed. 

And you aren’t afraid of being struck dead ? ” he 
asked. 

Pierre made a flexible movement with his mouth, 
but looked again at Kate, and remarked that he hoped 
he had not offended Mademoiselle. 

Mademoiselle did not understand. She is not 
French,” de Limay said quickly. 

“ Ah ! ” d’Anthou seemed rather sorry to hear 
it, and Kate looked angrily at Remi and answered 
for herself. 

‘‘ All the same,” she added, with a flush at her own 
honesty, “ I liked your first poem best ; you were 
just finishing when we came in.” 

‘‘ Then Monsieur is a foreigner,” d’Anthou said, 
holding out his left hand carelessly to a young man 
who had just arrived, and who stood adoringly before 
him saying, “ V ous 'permettez. Monsieur,'"'* 

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Blindfold 

De Limay ignored the challenge and looked across 
the room. 

‘‘ Why don’t you answer ? ” Kate asked quickly. 
She felt full of righteous indignation, and was calling 
him a prig in her heart. 

“ You asked me something ? ” De Limay spoke 
with great civility. 

Only an idea. I fancy you must be English.” 

‘‘ Because I have not discovered La Butte before ? ” 
Remi smiled. “ But then, places have to be discovered 
by foreigners, have they not ? America, for instance, 
and even this corner of Montmartre. I am sorry 
to disappoint you — even to have to contradict you ; 
I was born in Paris.” 

The clash was becoming too apparent, and Francis 
stretched out his long legs and looked at his watch. 

When does Mademoiselle Levant recite ? ” he 
asked. 

The Patron came and leaned on the back of his 
chair. And Mademoiselle, does not she sing or 
repeat a poem ? ” he asked. 

‘‘ No ! no ! ” Kate drew back, and just for a second 
her eyes met those of Remi de Limay and they smiled. 
The mutual understanding saved the situation, and 
he looked away again, contented. 

“ Make Levant hurry a little,” Francis suggested, 

she will drink too much unless you do ” ; — he pushed 
Servais away — “ and you reek of brandy yourself, 
mon vieux,"^^ 

The old man went across the room and spoke to 
the heavy, dark-haired girl who screamed with laughter 
and stood up, talking wildly to her late companions 
as she took up her place by the red curtain. She 
flung back her short hair and stood defiantly with her 
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hands on her hips watching the room, and then broke 
into a torrent of words. 

Levant spared nobody, herself included, but for 
that she did not care, and there was real genius in 
her triumphant and shameless outpouring. Her sense 
of reality dragged her through the gutter and the 
kennels ; it drove her into the operating theatre of a 
loathsome hospital, and drowned her with mud and 
blood, until even the girl sitting on the knees of the 
man in the bowler hat looked scared, and her cavalier 
took oif his hat and wiped his forehead. She had 
character, the force of which was like the passage of 
a fire-engine in the night, and her courage was great. 
Sentimentalism cowered and fled before her, illusions 
died as though plague-stricken, and all the gardens 
of life withered and fell away. She was trying to 
include all her own vision of life in the scope of her 
poem, and as she saw it the agony was nearly unbear- 
able. Her eyes fell on Kate for a second, and the 
sight of the girl seemed to add to her rage of passion- 
ate expression. She leaned forward, spread out her 
arms, and then, without any warning, began to laugh. 
Her laugh went like a knife-blade through the room, 
and d’Anthou at his worst — or best — had never achieved 
such a climax. 

‘‘ I told you she was worth waiting for,” Francis 
said as he got up. Not pretty exactly, but she is 
clever.” 

‘‘ I think she is perfectly outrageous,” de Limay 
said slowly, as they walked along the quiet road. 

Dawn was coming up over the sky, the houses 
looked wan, and like people who have been up all 
night waiting for something to happen which had not 
happened. In the still grey light the trees were 
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a dull uniform colour, and the street lamps shone 
like stars, paling a little under the faint yellow 
sky. Paris was no longer like a fairy tale ; it was like 
a city under a spell, and the narrow streets were dusty 
and exhausted. They talked very little as they went 
down the flights of steps into the world again. 

At the top of the Rue Clichy their ways parted, and 
Remi stood with his hat off to wish Kate good night, 
or rather good morning. Francis looked jaded rather 
than tired, and his temper was irritable, so that Kate 
hardly touched de Limay’s hand, and then, as though 
pulled by an invisible thread, she turned and slipped 
her arm through her father’s, and they went away 
together. He listened to their footsteps, her’s light 
with its dancing tread, and Huntingdon’s heavy pace, 
echoing away down the silent street, and at last he 
turned away himself and went onwards across the 
river, which lay pallid in the clear light, and down 
the wide Quai d’Orsay, where the chestnut trees 
rustled a little in the flrst breeze of sunrise, and on 
to his own house, where the door clicked open to 
let him in, and the shadows drew around him once 
more. 

He had too much to think of to want to sleep, 
so he pulled a chair on to the veranda of his window, 
which overlooked a small garden bright with flowers 
and guarded by a stone figure which represented 
Echo, standing on tiptoe with her hands to her mouth. 
Sitting there Remi de Limay thought seriously about 
the future. 

He knew that he was expected to marry his cousin, 
Eugenie de Saint Roque. Eugenie was pretty but in- 
definite, and they had exchanged about half a dozen 
words together. So far no one knew what she might or 
H3 


Blindfold 


might not turn into after marriage. He thought 
with a shudder of the iiangailles and the fiangailles 
party, when, if ever he took the plunge, the engagement 
would be announced. The cards which would be 
sent out saying that the Comte and Comtesse de Saint 
Roque announced the fiangailles of their eldest daughter 
Eugenie with Remi de Lavalle de Limay, who had 
been decorated with the Croix de Guerre. The 
assembling of aunts and uncles, the arrangements 
for the wedding, and then the wedding itself and 
the subsequent departure with Eugenie, of whom he 
knew absolutely nothing. He lighted a cigarette, 
and watched the little wisp of smoke rise upwards 
to the clear blue sky, cloudless and stainless in its 
morning glory. 

The great mercy was, that he was still a free man, 
and had managed to avoid any kind of entanglement 
in the matter — though they were all waiting for it 
to happen. Yes, he was still a free man. . . . 

From thinking of himself as the wholly unwilling 
fiance of Eugenie de Saint Roque, his mind forsook 
the subject with a sudden jerk and he came back 
to Kate. He knew that she gave him a deep sensa- 
tion of life and of being alive, and that from the 
day when he had first seen her he had remembered 
her with vivid clearness. Now that she was placed 
in this ridiculously false position as her father’s 
daughter, she made an even stronger appeal to him 
again. To think of her as a green bough thrown 
on a dust heap exasperated him, and yet it had a 
kind of fascination. It made her, already different 
to others, even more poignantly alluring. Her 
loyalty shone out like a star, and what could such as 
Lestrange and Amere Piquante do, to sully her clear 
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shining ? But she ought not to be there, Dieu^ 
she ought not. She might fall in love with some 
one like the young man who had sung Vheure ie Re tour 
— the idea was so intolerable to Remi that he got up 
and leaned on the wrought-iron railing and swore to 
himself. Her father would not protect her, and, 
for aught de Limay could believe of him, would let 
her undertake any mad act on impulse. Bryan 
Maxwell could hardly be counted upon ; he was one 
of those delightful people who had no special sense 
of duty to anyone, and he had gone away, in any case. 
Francis Huntingdon haunted his imagination. 

He thought of his own relatives. Paris was full 
of them, but they would never understand Kate. 
Francis was her father, and the girl would fall under 
the same condemnation as he did. She, a jeune 
had danced at the Bal Coquelicot, and bombe^d 
about Paris when well-behaved girls should be in 
bed and asleep. They would believe the very worst 
of Kate, because they all felt that human nature 
was entirely fallible and weak, and that to maintain a 
chaste integrity without a careful chaperone was 
quite impossible. They trusted neither their daugh- 
ters nor their sons, and why, then, should they revolu- 
tionize their traditions for a slip of a thing with fair 
hair and clear eyes ? 

Besides, you could not produce Francis. Any 
Frenchwoman, even Eugenie, whose innocence had 
been protected, as it were, with dragons, would know 
that Huntingdon was a rake, and his friendship with 
de Vrie, the blackest of black sheep, simply finished 
him. 

De Limay turned away from considering his own 
people. Even his mother, who was very different, 

14s K 


Blindfold 

would jib. She would say, “ After all, Remi, what 
does it matter to you ? ” The question was a poser, 
and he evaded the answer for a brief moment, and 
then his defences fell. The real reason why it mattered 
and would go on mattering was, that Kate meant 
to him what the woman or girl means who first brings 
love to a man. Not only for a year or two, but for 
that long matter of a lifetime. Mixing herself 
into every hour of it, and making it hers, and causing 
all other women to become unreal as shadows or 
puppets. 

And yet what an impasse. He did not beg the 
question or blind himself to its difficulties. Whether 
she would ever care, or never throw him a thought, 
altered nothing so far as he was concerned, and she 
was the daughter of Francis Huntingdon, that was 
the immediately important point. 

There had been no word of their meeting again, 
and Remi planned an excuse to go and see her, allow- 
ing a decent number of days to elapse. He could 
give himself another fortnight before going to Mau- 
rennes and undertaking this ridiculous business of 
watch-dog to Georges de Vrie, and even that prospect 
was slightly tempered by the fact that Georges might 
be able to tell him something about Kate and her 
father, so that Remi liked it a little better. 

He rang for his fetit dejeuner and allowed his 
thoughts to flow steadily towards Kate again, but 
though he saw her ‘‘ like a beech in May, with 
the sun on the yonder side,” there was that heavy 
shadow all too close to her, the shadow of Francis 
Huntingdon, whose daughter believed him to be 
a great man. 


146 


Chapter 1 2 

T he one thing which troubled Kate as she packed 
her boxes and prepared to leave the flat, was 
that she had not been able to break it to Remi de 
Limay that she and her father were going to Mau- 
rennes. She felt he would consider it oddly lacking 
in frankness on her part to have suppressed the fact, 
and yet at the time there had been no possibility 
of telling him. But he was not of their world. She 
repeated this truth to herself and beat it into her 
brain. And he had scorned La Butte. She was still 
angry when she remembered that, because the rela- 
tionship between the cabaret and her father was 
clear to her. 

Remi had attempted to measure the genius of 
La Butte and the elements which went to make 
up Francis Huntingdon, with some wretched little 
inch tape that had been given him as a child to assist 
him in keeping well within the narrow limits of his 
own social order. 

If Francis — and La Butte — defled these current 
conceptions, why, so much the worse for Remi de 
Limay. 

It ought to have done him good to hear the truth, 
she told herself. The truth, according to the gospel 
of Levant, was fiercely unpalatable, but Kate felt 

147 


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that to be no excuse for turning away from it, walk- 
ing into a drawing-room, having closed the doors 
behind you, so to speak. 

In spite of that, she thought of him as she folded 
her dresses on the bed. Since she left Aunt Laurie she 
had had no new clothes. Francis managed to persuade 
his tailor to keep him chic^ but that was done by sheer 
force of character, and there never was enough money 
for Kate to buy anything new. She did not mind 
this very much because her life was in itself suffi- 
ciently interesting for her not to miss the thrill of 
having a new hat or two, and so she packed her 
rather bedraggled little wardrobe and sang to herself 
as she packed. 

Between the thoughts of La Butte^ the recollection 
of her dance with de Limay flickered like sunlight 
through shadow. She had really enjoyed it, and even 
if La Butte made a splendid contribution to the genius 
of the world, it was not quite the same as dancing. 

Francis was moody and rather silent when they 
went across the road to a small restaurant where 
they dined when funds were low, and he looked at 
her more than once with a steady scrutiny, but he 
did not mention de Limay, and Kate suddenly 
recollected that she ought to tell her father that 
Remi was likely to make a fourth with the party to 
Maurennes. 

‘‘ How long will it take to get to Maurennes ? ” 
she asked. 

‘‘ All night,” Francis said. “ Can you sleep in a 
train ? ” 

‘‘ I can sleep anywhere.” She smiled. She was 
white and tired, and her fresh looks had suffered 
momentary eclipse. 


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‘‘ Georges meets us at the Mont Parnasse Station,” 
Francis went on, eating his artichoke with the critical 
air which had formerly irritated Laura. We get 
there three days before the Casino opens.” 

Francis,” Kate spoke suddenly, do you know 
that Monsieur de Limay is a relation of Georges de 
Vrie ? ” 

Do I know it ? ” He raised his eyebrows. No, 
I don’t think so, Georges says that Paris is full of his 
relatives, and even now he gets credit on the fact.” 
He laughed a short, dry laugh. 

Well, he is,” she went on, ‘‘ and he told me that 
he has vineyards near Medoc.” 

Francis paused and looked at her again. ‘‘ Very 
nice for him,” he said. Do you like him, Kate ? ” 

She avoided the question. Her occasional fear of 
her father raised its head for a second, and she found 
it difficult to speak easily. He told me that an 
aunt of his had lent her house to Georges, and that 
she thought afterwards that it was rather a reckless 
thing to do.” 

From what Georges tells me of his aunt, it must 
be the one reckless act of a lifetime,” Francis com- 
mented. “ Anyhow, if she wants to go back on it, 
she will have to evict us.” 

‘‘Not that ” — Kate felt herself flushing quickly — 
“ only she seems to have asked Monsieur de Limay 
to go to her house and stay there.” 

Francis said nothing, but she knew that her 
announcement had affected him, because he put down 
his glass, which he had raised to his lips, and held the 
stem very tightly. 

“ Then we shall be four,” he remarked at last. 

“ Yes, we shall be four.” 

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Blindfold 

“ I can’t say that I feel that de Limay will exactly 
add to the gaiety of nations,” Huntingdon spoke 
again. To accept the position of a spy on a man 
years older than himself isn’t a recommendation.” 

Oh, it wasn’t like that.” Kate made an appealing 
gesture with her hands. “ He hates having to go 
at all and said that it was only to prevent Georges 
from selling the furniture.” 

Her father laughed and his face lighted again. 
‘‘ It isn’t beyond Georges to have thought of it,” 
he said, and what did de Limay say when you told 
him that you were to be of the party ? ” 

‘‘ I didn’t tell him.” She looked down. 

Tell me ” — he pushed away his plate — do you 
want this young man there ? I can’t do much for 
you, Kate, but I can give you some advice. In 
England, Cophetua married the beggar maid, I believe, 
and in England dukes not infrequently marry dancers, 
or did in the ’nineties, but in France a man like de 
Limay is under a kind of oriental tradition. If they 
could marry their children off at six years old over 
here, they would, but as they can’t they have the 
mariage de convenance. If de Limay comes to see 
you or pushes himself in, he knows quite well that 
it means — to him — literally nothing. I don’t want 
to tread heavily, you can believe that, and nothing 
would induce me to interfere with you, whatever 
you took into your head to do, but you ought to know 
the facts. Georges would say the same. You haven’t 
a rap, Kate. We live hke the fowls of the air and the 
lilies of the field, and every French marriage is based 
on a banking account.” He lighted a Maryland and 
leaned back reflectively. ‘‘ They pretend to be 
romantic, but in all the affairs of life they are huck- 
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Blindfold 

sters. Romance ” — he lifted his chin — you won’t 
find that here. Love, passion, scenes, tall talk ad 
libitum and the perpetual excuse of the ‘ latin tempera- 
ment,’ all that you will find, but not a trace of the 
Lord of Burleigh fair and free.” 

‘‘ I suppose not,” Kate said slowly, “ and I don’t 
care.” 

“ But for a really well-done love affair,” Francis 
went on, you cannot beat a Frenchman. De 
Limay is no exception. There are no exceptions. 
I don’t want to shock you, Kate, I hate shocking 
people, but he did not strike me as disinterested. 
If he comes down to Maurennes you will have to be 
on your guard. Not in any foolish sense, of course ” — 
he brushed the suggestion aside — “ but you are so 
perilously young and you have none of the tempera- 
ment which a Frenchman expects and understands 
in a woman, and as that is so I suspect you of owning 
a heart. For your own sake I could wish you did 
not.” 

There is no need to worry about me,” she 

said. 

Not if you understand the rules of the game.” 
He got up and paid the bill. “ So that you know 
that if you want romance, by George, you’ll have to 
pay for it.” 

She followed him out of the restaurant into the 
bright street with a queer sense of forlornness over- 
taking her. Aunt Laurie would have been aghast 
at the very idea suggested by her father’s words, 
and Robert Lewis would have turned purple and 
stormed furiously. Francis merely told her that 
de Limay couldn’t possibly intend any kind of serious 
wooing, if such appeared to be his purpose, and 

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advised her to make sure before she let herself go. 

Let herself go.’’ The words had an awfulness 
even though people were proud of the feat, and she 
wondered at the different meanings different indi- 
viduals attached to words. It was a great and fine 
act to let yourself go — only no one said precisely 
where you went to. It was a brave thing to scout 
and flout repression, repression was so bad for the 
development of character, but, then, was there not 
self-control ? The power to do what you wanted 
with your own emotions ? Francis was really wise, 
but just then Kate felt that she would have appreci- 
ated a little commonplace wrath instead. 

She was just a little outraged by the whole con- 
versation. Francis had, with the long foresight of 
age, assumed that Remi de Limay must mean ” 
something, and something that was not in the least 
convenable. Aunt Laurie might have thought vaguely 
of orange blossom, and Robert would have, and even 
had, shown fight at once. She did not want any 
of these things. Her friendship with de Limay 
was of the shghtest, most elusive quality, and to pin 
it down to anything took all the jewels off the butterfly 
wings. 

Francis said, in effect : ‘‘ Go ahead, my girl, if 
you like, but remember what port you are setting 
towards.” He was right, of course — she repeated 
the assertion as she lay on her bed looking up at the 
cracked ceiling — Francis had all the directness of La 
Butte, and knew no sentimental compromise, but 
for all that, it had spoilt the memory of Remi de Limay 
and distorted it for her. 

She tried to see into the future, but the effort 
brought her nothing. As Francis said, theory was 
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not much good to anyone. She remembered that 
old Lord Arranmore had been credited with “knowing 
the theory of music.” People always said it of him as 
though it were an occult power which he possessed, but 
when it came to facts, such as pianos or organs, he 
couldn’t play a note. Still, he went through life 
pointed out as a man who knew the theory of music, 
and it gave him a special identity. Francis knew 
the truth about life, or at least Kate felt sure that 
he did, and he was not a success in the ordinary 
sense of the word. But he was a success in 
quite a bizarre way of his own because he did 
exactly what he himself wanted to do. Whereas 
most people viewed life through queer mists of 
prejudice, Francis had no fanatical purpose or motive 
other than to make some kind of living. He did 
not want to be a propagandist or to heal sick society, 
he wanted to back the right colour at trente-et- 
quarante and to find earnest seekers after a poker 
table. With this he combined a fine taste for the 
arts, and a powerful philosophy that never weakened 
or softened, as in the case of de Vrie. 

Kate thought of herself in her connexion with 
her father, in their strange comradeship, and felt 
his irresistible grace, that drew her to follow him 
faithfully. She could neither tell what it consisted 
of, nor wherein it lay. He did things that were 
incomprehensible to her, and yet that did not alter 
his influence over her. His purpose or his lack of 
purpose, his attitude towards life, his indifference 
to morals, combined with his real gift for friendship, 
set him so definitely apart that there was no way 
of judging him, even had she desired to do so. She 
had exonerated him completely before it was time 
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to roll off her bed and begin to think of getting the 
luggage taken downstairs. 

De Vrie joined them at the station, as the sky over 
Paris was turning peach colour, dusted with grey, 
and they had a second-class carriage to themselves. 
It still seemed a little odd to Kate to be going off 
to an unknown destination with Francis and Georges, 
and travelling had, so far, always been connected 
in her mind with going home, or going away from 
home, so that she suddenly felt as though she must 
be on her way back to Ireland, and wake up to find 
the wide reaches of the Bog of Allen stretching away 
in limitless brown on either side of her, with the 
shoulders of the Galtee mountains standing far off 
to the south like a cathedral made of lapis lazuli. 
And then she remembered that she was not going 
back, she was going forward into a new world. A 
country of vineyards and blue sea, something she 
could not yet imagine. A last ray of departing sun- 
light touched a row of houses set high on a steep 
road above the station as the train steamed out, 
turning the windows to flame as though some amazing, 
spiritual fire had burst out from the buildings which 
could no longer contain it. Then there came a 
sight of the Seine, cold now and growing dark, a 
glimpse of balustraded steps, domes against the 
lingering light, heavy alleys of chestnut trees, and 
little carburets set about with painted tables and chairs, 
all flowing past the windows with near effects and 
distant effects and full of the mysterious riddles of 
roads. 

‘‘ In Rome one throws a copper coin into a foun- 
tain, to make sure of return,” de Vrie said as he 
IS4 


Blindfold 

watched her, “ but with Paris it is not necessary. 
Paris is like a woman who can be even insolently 
sure of her lovers — we all come back.” 

She has treated me pretty badly this time,” 
Francis remarked. “ And if she has, mon vieuxy 
you will forgive her. Maurennes will make amends. 
Here we are like a good family going to the sea. I 
remember me how I used to bring a bucket and a 
spade, but those days are over.” His bright bird-like 
eyes smiled and he clapped his hands together and 
sang : 

“ Quand vous voyez la Lizet-te 
Vous en perdez la raison, 

Et vous perdez aussi la tete, 

Quand vous voyez la Lison. 

Toutes les deux sont jolies, 

Et quand vient la floraison ...” 

Shut up, Georges.” Huntingdon lay back in his 
corner, and de Vrie made a grimace like a naughty 
child at Kate. 

‘‘ Ce bon Francis^'^ he said in a whisper. He 
hates the sea and he hates everywhere that is not 
Paris, que voulez-vous ? ” 

The train ran onwards into the sombre blue of 
the night, with its growing melancholy, and Kate 
watched the moon rise over a wide plain as they 
passed places nameless to her, and thundered south. 
She did not want to talk, and Georges slept in his 
corner while Francis smoked in his. He had tied 
a scarf over the lamp so that the interior of the carriage 
was dark. After a long time the moon set and stars 
came out like flowers in the clear dark of the sky. 
Once de Vrie awoke as they crossed a bridge, and 
looked out at the scattered lights of a town. 
iSS 


Blindfold 

‘‘ Saumur,” he remarked laconically, and went to 
sleep again. 

In the end Kate slept. She had thought herself 
tired, and there had been so much in this day of 
hers to make her think. Francis had directed her 
mind very definitely towards de Limay, adding a 
queer touch of rather morbid attraction. Much 
as though an artist, with a twist in his mind, had painted 
a portrait of a well-known face, and brought into it 
a vaguely sinister shadow, unseen by other eyes. 
Remi, who had seemed the protector, was in reality 
the hunter, skilled and dangerous, and Francis, having 
told her this, left her to protect herself against him. 

She awoke at sunrise to a new world, and sat up, 
brushing her hair back from her eyes. Great dis- 
tances spread on either side, and achingly white roads 
deep in dust. Little houses with flat Spanish-looking 
roofs of red tiles, and miles of vineyards lay under 
the hot blue sky, but the vineyards were dreadfully 
disappointing. Where were the arches and festoons 
she had expected to see ? These were only fields 
with long rows of small bushes no bigger than goose- 
berry trees, and the world was full of them. Slow 
carts crawled lazily along the white ribbon-like roads, 
and women in black with large sun-bonnets worked 
in the fields, but the brightness of it dazzled the sight, 
and Kate blinked and yawned and, like Francis, longed 
again for Paris. 

Where is the sea ? ” she asked Georges rather 
irritably. 

‘‘Patience,” he said, nodding at her. “The mo- 
ment when one awakes is never a good moment, 
that is why one ought only to say one’s prayers. We 
are getting near the sea, but it hides until we actually 
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arrive at Maurennes. You will get there when the 
sorrows of the world are lighter.” 

“ I want a bath,” Kate said firmly. 

“ And you shall bathe in the bluest sea you ever 
saw.^’ De Vrie lighted a cigarette and spoke in a 
low voice because Huntingdon was still asleep. Just 
now, ma fetite Mademoiselle^ life is not at its best ; 
it seldom is in a railway carriage at daybreak, as I 
said, it makes me think of the legend of Offero.” 

Who was he ? ” she asked. 

‘‘ He offered to carry the Christ-child across the 
ford and he stumbled and cried out, ‘‘ Little child, 
what makes you so heavy ? ” And the child replied, 

I carry the sorrows of the whole world upon my 
shoulders.” There are times when we all do that, 
Mees Kate, we carry the sorrows of our civilization, 
and it saddens us. Me also, I am sad.” 

Kate shook her head. “ Why are you sad ? ” 
she asked. 

Because of l^ante Sophie. She is a good woman 
and I respect her. She has lent me Trianon, and 
has made it possible for me to show you more of my 
beautiful country, and yet I do not trust myself. 
Ah, well, so life is, has been, and will be, until the 
day which brings M. Fabbe with his candles and prayer 
book and the good end.” 

She said nothing. There were times when de 
Vrie puzzled her completely with his repentance and 
his absolute lack of any real desire to reform, it was 
an attitude of mind that bafiled her. 

The railway carriage looked towzled and ugly in 
the strong sunlight, and de Vrie’s face was yellow 
and lined, while Francis, who had awakened, sat 
sombrely staring out at the world beyond the windows. 
157 


Blindfold 

I hope to God,” he said, that something or 
other turns up lucky at Maurennes, Parks has fairly 
cleared me out, Georges.” He got up and stretched 
his arms and yawned. ‘‘ Some one will have to pay 
for it.” 

“ Some one will,” de Vrie reassured him. ‘‘ Voyons, 
Francis, you are never defeated, some one else always 
pays.” 

Huntingdon sat down again and shivered slightly, 
as though autumn winds had touched him with a 
tinge of cold. 

When does the Casino open ? ” he asked. 

“ In three days from now.” De Vrie held up three 
fingers. 

“ In a hotel, if there is a decent one, we might 
have found some one,” Francis said discontentedly. 

“ But the bill, mon cher^ the bill,” Georges remon- 
strated, “ as it is, we live rent free, we eat for nothing, 
and ^ante Sophie has a good cook, Elise, who is also 
of the meridional temperament, not one of your 
frosty Northern women who cannot understand why 
men love wine. There is a cellar, that also costs us 
nothing. There is everything to be said for Trianon.” 

And when de Limay comes ? ” Francis asked 
brutally. 

De Vrie flushed and looked hurt. You pardon 
me,” he said a little stiffly, “ I do not like that, Francis. 
But after all,” he smiled again, “ Remi is young, he 
is a hon zigue^ and though I take it ill that iante 
Sophie should not trust me, are there not distrac- 
tions ? ” He glanced at Kate, who was not looking 
at him. 

Francis raised his eyebrows and just moved his 
shoulders as though he had answered the question. 

158 


Chapter 1 3 

M AURENNES lay in a semicircle round a huge 
stretch of shining golden strand, with a 
wonderful blue sea beyond. The coast ran out into 
a dozen promontories and points marked with the 
towers of lighthouses which stood up in white pillars 
against the sky by day, and at night sent out shafts 
of sword-like light that swept land and sea, with the 
watchful glance of huge monsters. All along the 
road bordering the strand there were villas, and the 
design of their roofs stood up in tower and turret, 
fantastic and gay, alternating with Moorish architec- 
ture which brought in a strong tone of deep red, with 
flat, tiled roofs. Tamarisks and ilex trees, grey 
poplars and oaks grew everywhere, and there were 
dark stiff palms in the gardens and a riot of roses and 
hydrangeas, honeysuckle and valerian waving on the 
grey or white walls. 

The town on the coast was wholly modern, and great 
hotels glared whitely at the sea which threw back 
its defiant contrast of gold and blue, for it was streaked 
with the gold of its own sands, giving it almost the 
shining brittleness of Venetian glass, iridescent and 
clear. Its moods changed according to the weather 
outside in the Bay of Biscay. There were painted 
iron railings before the houses, and flowers planted 

^59 


Blindfold 

in blue china vases, bouquets of shrubs, and beds 
where the colour scheme was changed week by week 
by busy gardeners who brought plants in carts, like 
clever milliners rearranging the trimming of a hat. 
There were flights upon flights of stone steps, and 
great striped awnings over the windows of rich- 
looking dwellings, and some half-way along the front, 
the Casino dome like a soap bubble purple in colour 
and surrounded by frail spires made yet another 
contrast standing behind dark green cedar trees. 
Kate looked at it as they drove past on the way from 
the station and thought of pleasures and palaces ” ; 
it fulfilled the idea so absolutely in her mind. Mau- 
rennes was the home of pleasures and palaces. 

On the hill behind the town, the church dominated 
the rise of ground looking rather disconsolate, as the 
iron cross which had topped the spire had been blown 
away in one of the fierce winter storms, so that it 
appeared unfinished, and as though something impor- 
tant had been forgotten or left out. The town 
itself was composed of shops, which did all their 
business during a few months in the summer. In 
the winter, de Vrie explained, the place lost all its 
gentleness and gaiety. The villas shut their eyes 
and turned their thoughts inwards, and sand storms 
raged, beating against the defences and drowning 
in dry penetrating gold the few people who remained. 
Even the air was full of sand, and the venetian-glass 
sea behaved disgracefully and roared and raged, 
sending in waves six feet high to dash along the 
coast. 

Already there were a number of tents pitched on 
the sands, and beyond the town at the back, the 
dark line of pinewoods showed deep and comforting 
i6o 


Blindfold 

in the blaze of light. You could smell the strong, 
hard scent in the air, mingling with the salt of the 
sea, and it went to Kate’s head like wine. 

‘‘ We are on the chic side,” Georges said, as they 
sat in a little carriage lined with orange yellow and 
sheltered with curtains like an old four-poster bed. 
He was not a little proud of the fact. “ Down 
there in Maurennes the good bourgeois of Bordeaux 
and Cognac assemble with all their children, and 
the Parisians, whom you never see in Paris, go there 
also, but the Grand Monde live at Bergerac, where 
we shall be.” 

“ I hope they aren’t too exclusive,” Francis said 
shortly. 

‘‘ They are exclusive,” de Vrie replied. But I 
begin afresh from to-day ; did I not promise Tante 
Sophie it should be so ? We are chic^ the Princess 
Charmelles has a villa next but one to our Trianon, 
and the Due de la Sellere is our neighbour.” He 
enjoyed the very sound of the names as he spoke 
them. 

The carriage climbed a hill, still bordered all the 
way by villas, and at each turn of the road there 
seemed to be yet another sheltered blue bay, until 
at last they drove past a row of hotels, virgin white 
and even distressingly clean outside, past a dusty cafe 
or two where iron tables stood under bleached awn- 
ings, and at last pulled up before a wide iron gate 
into a large garden, behind a white balustrade. Soft 
willows and tamarisks grew close to the house, and 
its plaster front was time-worn. The upper story 
of the centre part of the house stood high up over 
the second story, giving the effect of a square tower, 
and the roofs of all the stories alike were surrounded 

l6l L 


Blindfold 

hy a balustrade, ornamented by huge stone baskets 
with double handles, at each of the four square 
corners. There was much decoration on the house, 
and each window had a balcony, wide and ornate, 
sheltered by sun-blinds. 

Kate still felt as though she were walking in a dream 
when she got out of the carriage and went up the 
flagged path and into the darkness of the hall. A 
huge statue of Venus looked at her with blind eyes 
and smiling lips, standing between her and a wide 
polished staircase that led upwards. Elise, the meri- 
dionale, who had a dark moustache and a piercing 
voice, all but embraced de Vrie, so great was her 
pleasure in seeing him, driving before her a small 
woman who was evidently her slave, and the noise 
of her voice rose and fell like a cascade. 

Madame la Baronne had written this and written 
that. The salon was not to be opened, nor the 
grande chambre a coucher, but Elise had opened both, 
and between all the histories, she cried out for ‘‘ Hor- 
tense,” who ran hither and thither in wild confusion 
of soul. She sent Hortense upstairs with Kate to 
show her the grande chambre a coucher^ and its space 
and magnificence nearly overwhelmed her. The 
doors were high and dark, mirrors like black lakes 
reflected her in a ghostly way, and the parquet floor 
was polished and dangerous to walk on, as a sheet of 
ice. 

You would not see that in Paris, Mademoiselle,” 
Hortense remarked, satisfied with the impression 
the grandeur had made upon Kate, who stood weary 
and crumpled after her night’s journey, looking 
around her, and feeling as if her eyes were full of 
sand. 


Blindfold 

She threw open the volets and the light stormed in, 
bringing with it the sound of the sea. It was a gentle 
sound, like a great sighing whisper that never ceased, 
and for a moment Kate felt the force of de Vrie’s 
remark, that this was a fresh beginning. One could 
forget the Bal Coquelicot and even La Butte; the 
purpose of both, and their cynical philosophy, were 
far away from Maurennes and Bergerac, and she 
leaned on the balcony outside her great, spacious 
room where her clothes would hang like a few ragged 
little cobwebs in the enormous wardrobes. Here 
was a different background, more like the old house 
in Ireland, and a different world where at least Amere 
Piquante would not enter. And then she began to 
think that after all, even when you come to a new 
place you bring old things with you. That was why, 
perhaps, when you died, you were not allowed to 
do so, because so surely as you did, you carried the 
past into the present, and from the present on into 
the future. . . . She was tired out, and Elise, still 
talking down below, was paying the cocher^ taking a 
purse out of a pocket in her petticoat. 

The gesture, though she could not distingush 
the words, struck Kate forcibly and she went back 
into her room. Already some one was paying. 
Some one always paid. The first person, in this 
instance, was Elise, but it comforted her slightly 
to realize that it must have been de Vrie who had 
brought that off. 

Three days had to pass before the Casino opened, 
and those days weighed heavily upon Francis. Se- 
cluded in the aristocratic isolation of Trianon, he 
fretted and grumbled at the absence of all his usual 


Blindfold 

means of passing the time, and persuaded Georges 
de Vrie to play endless games of picquet with him in 
the salon, where the stately Louis XV furniture 
appeared to stand dismayed at the sight, and where, 
having run out of Tante Sophie’s note-paper, he kept 
the score in pencil on the white marble mantelpiece. 
The very regularity of his life jarred upon his nerves, 
and made him rebel. Elise, who would not have 
stood such an attitude from any ordinary guest, was 
at the greatest pains to please Huntingdon and 
inquired carefully of Kate what he preferred in the 
matter of flats. 

Monsieur votre fere is a very distinguished gentle- 
man,” she said, as she waddled into Kate’s room. 

Ah, Mademoiselle he reminds me of my youth 
and of the young Comte de Bergerac who played 
all day and night, so that we carried the cards away 
in a clothes basket, for never did he play twice with the 
same pack. He was a great gambler.” She sighed 
over times past, and shook her grey head which was 
covered with a thick black net. ‘‘ As for Monsieur 
Georges, I have known him all his life and he is as 
gay as ever.” She put her hand over her mouth and 
laughed discreetly. Madame La Baronne is terribly 
strict and religious, and writes to me saying that I 
must keep the key of the cellar under my pillow at 
night until Monsieur Remi comes.” 

Kate put her book, which she had been reading, 
down on a small table and looked at Elise. ‘‘ When 
is he coming ? ” she asked. 

I cannot tell, Mam’zelle. He will walk in one 
of these days. Mam’zelle knows Monsieur Remi ? 
A beau gargon^ but not so free as Monsieur Georges.” 

The idea of his coming hung over her mind like 


Blindfold 

a pall. What would he say when he saw the draw- 
ing-room mantelpiece, unless Hortens e had washed 
it before he came ? What would he say to the 
amount of champagne de Vrie ordered up from the 
cellar, and would Francis amend his ways at all, 
when de Limay came ? Even in little things ? 
Georges, for instance, always changed into a rather 
shabby old smoking ” for dinner, to do some kind 
of abstract homage to the traditions of Tante Sophie, 
but Francis refused to conform. He had long got 
out of the way of it, living in restaurants, and it 
bored him to alter anything. Bit by bit the thought 
of Remits arrival became menacing as a day of wrath 
to her. She got caught into a kind of trap in her 
mind into which she fell, however lovely and bright 
the days were, and she looked across the bay to where 
Medoc lay like a grey shadow on l;he horizon beyond 
Maurennes, with a desperate ache in her heart. 

Having come to Bergerac to escape from Paris, 
they had brought so much of Paris with them, and 
Kate understood that this was one of the inevitable 
rules of life. She watched the white, fleeting sails 
of little boats, and the brown sails, like autumn 
leaves, and felt that for such as they, Paris was best. 
The restraint of Trianon, its very exclusiveness, 
drove her to realize that the gulf which yawned 
between them and people who belonged to the life 
of security was only that of a very elegant night 
refuge where they had been admitted for a time, 
and the meals with the heavy silver and fine glass 
oppressed her and made her nervous as though Tante 
Sophie herself might walk in and order them igno- 
miniously out of her house. 

She was the only one of the three who felt it. Francis 


Blindfold 

was merely marking time, and he took his surround- 
ings indifferently and even thanklessly. Georges was 
tremendously happy. He, at least, was back in his 
old trou^"^ as he called it, and some of the forgotten 
graces returned to him. As a host he was perfect, 
and dispensed T^ante Sophie’s food and drink with 
lavish hospitality. 

“ Ah, it is chic^"^ he said, “ I feel me, as if I had 
married Agathe de Suruges and was a widower with 
all her money to spend.” 

You’d have spent it years ago,” Francis said 
sleepily, make no error about that, Georges.” 

Let me have my illusion.” De Vrie waved his 
flexible hands. I prefer to think that is so, rather 
than to imagine the face of Tante Sophie when she 
makes her next inventory of the cellar. Still, Elise is 
a good woman and a good liar, and she will no doubt 
explain the affair.” 

In the evenings after dinner Kate walked up the 
path that led to a point where sea and sky lay all 
around her, and then only, was she able to get away 
from the dark clutches of her thoughts. There was 
peace somewhere, if one could get to it ; a wide, sure 
peace that hardly belonged to this world, but partook 
of the immortality whose dwelling was the light 
of setting suns.” It became ridiculous to fret over 
trifles such as empty wine bottles ; and if Remi came 
like the evening angel and made the whole situation 
miserable, it could not be helped. It struck her sud- 
denly that her own moral standard was hardly all it 
might have been, because the sore point that irritated 
and distressed her so intensely was, that he should 
scorn and despise them. She could not protect Francis 
i66 


Blindfold 

from his criticism, and as for herself — well, she 
did not matter, and so the blue days slid on, and the 
nights, with the vast huge vagueness of sea and sky 
blended into one, cut by the flying shafts of light 
from the guardian lighthouses along the coast. 

It was the last day of the three days before the 
Casino opened that Georges escaped from the card 
table, as Francis took the train which ran like a child’s 
toy from Bergerac to Maurennes, to drift round 
the place and see if there was anything doing.” 
Georges joined her on the upland and sat down 
beside her, his eyes on the sea. 

‘‘ I feel like the man who did not know whether 
he would sit under a tree, or take his coat off and just 
do nothing,” he remarked in his light way. Our 
good Francis is like a bear with a sore head — several 
sore heads — and the change will do him good. He 
is never really happy out of Paris.” 

Have you been losing money or has he ? ” she 
asked. 

I have ” — he made a rueful face — but what 
matter ? I shall win at the tables, we shall all win 
at the tables.” 

I shan’t,” Kate laughed, and for the best of 
reasons, as I have only five francs in the world.” 

Francis feels it necessary to find some one to 
play a little poker,” de Vrie remarked, as though it 
explained away all difficulties. Your father is 
epatanty Mademoiselle Kate. He never lets himself 
down in the least, that is what I so admire. With 
me it is different. When I ask a loan I perspire in 
the hands. I walk about, put on my hat and I think 
for a long time in advance. I become over-polite — 
I know my weakness only too well, but Francis, 


Blindfold 

you should see him when he wants money from 
Duphot or such as he, he asks it as his right and it 
is magnificent.” 

Kate put one hand over the other and said nothing 
at all. 

He gets it, too,” de Vrie added, “ but there are 
things he will not do. For instance, at this sacre 
moment we are ridiculously short of funds, and I had 
to persuade Elise to make me her banker for a week 
or so. I shall pay her tremendously good interest, 
and she will not be the lo'ser by it, but, tiens, it was 
an effort. She is so plain, and I had to — well, never 
mind, it was quite successful.” 

You are really fond of my father ? ” Kate asked 
suddenly. 

Why, certainly I am. In some ways he is beyond 
anyone I know. He has never let down a friend, 
and there is a charm — how can one express it — an 
allure about Francis which one cannot escape. For 
years we have been comrades, at Aix, at Baden, Monte 
Carlo and Buda-pest in the good old days. We 
have been rich and poor together, and I cannot 
imagine life without him.” 

No, I suppose that is it,” she said slowly. 

But here in Maurennes he is bored, only presently 
all that will change, and Francis will be himself.” 

Monsieur de Vrie ” — Kate turned towards him 
earnestly — do you think that Remi de Limay will 
quarrel with Francis ? ” 

‘‘ But why should he ? ” Georges opened his round 
eyes. “ Remi is a young man with responsibility. He 
has a good character, and ” — he looked at her closely — 
he is handsome, is he not ? You like that proud, 
quiet look of his, ah ? I thought you might.” He 
1 68 


Blindfold 

paused and dug the point of his tasseled cane into 
the sand. He is a bon gargon^ but of course he is to 
be married before long.” 

‘‘ Is he ? ” Kate’s voice sounded very small, so 
small that it was hardly audible. 

Well, or so I believe.” De Vrie looked out to 
sea. There is a cousin of his, Eugenie de Saint 
Roque, who is a beautiful girl. True, I have not seen 
her since she was a baby, but she exists — oh yes, she 
exists.” 

‘‘ Is he in love with her ? ” Kate’s voice was normal 
again. 

Chere Mademoiselle, I do not suppose he is,” 
Georges laughed. “ Why should he be ? He will 
love elsewhere, no doubt, and give her his respectful 
homages, they will entertain their friends together 
in Paris, there will be the villa at Cannes for Eugenie 
and the foufons when they come. There is every 
reason why they should marry, mon Dieu, yes. But 
that will not prevent his having his comrades, what 
one of our great writers has called ‘ the little sisters 
who sweeten the lives of us poor devils and mix 
honey in the absinthe ; the little allies who take their 
share of the troubles and weariness of our misery, 
and bravely bear half the ill burden of this existence.’ ” 

Kate sat up and her eyes grew hard. So that 
will be his idea,” she said. 

“ Why not ? ” Georges spoke with a dreamy 
touch of sentiment. ‘‘ It is very natural. Remi 
is a hon gar^on.^’^ 

Then I don’t see that he is.” Her eyes grew 
stormy. Has he never heard of fidelity and self- 
respect, has he no idea that if you love a woman 
you must give her something better than that ? ” 
169 


Blindfold 

Her scorn rang in her voice, and de Vrie looked at 
her in surprise. 

“ Have I been so unfortunate as to shock you ? ” 
he asked. 

“You haven’t shocked me” — she was still angry 
with him — “ but you make me wonder at you. Sup- 
pose, Monsieur de Vrie, suppose ” — she hesitated— 
“ that you thought Remi de Limay was likely to make 
love to any girl you knew, would you still regard 
it as quite natural, and no harm at all ? ” 

“ He would distinguish and select carefully, 
you may be sure,” Georges explained. “ He would 
take no unfair advantage, no one would be harmed 
by him, for he is not of that type, but neither you 
nor I must expect the impossible. As your great 
Shakespeare has said, ‘ Why should he be better 
than the rest and honester than them all ? ’ That 
is what I feel. A little tendressey a little romance, 
what of it ? It makes the way sweet.” He looked 
at her with a sudden touch of compassion. “ Ah, 
Mademoiselle, Francis is not at his best always as 
a father, I fear me. I have told you what I know 
about Remi because Remi will soon be here, and 
the days are full of sunshine and the nights full of 
stars, old as I am I do not forget all that. Francis will 
be at the Casino and so shall I, and even were we 
not, I do not think that it would make so much 
difference. You are young and very beautiful, and 
all your life is before you. Then, I would say to 
you, do not think once or twice of Remi de Limay. 
Let him pass you by and keep your eyes on the 
sea. We do not know what life has in store for 
any of us, but there are some mistakes it is as well 
to avoid, if one is warned in advance.” He lay back 
170 


Blindfold 

on the hot sandy grass and talked half to himself 
rather than to Kate. 

“ I can think me of how easily the spell would 
work, and Remi might forget. Eugenie is only a 
name to him, but here in France les affaires are les 
affaires^ for all I know the fiangailles have been an- 
nounced already, and he is as fully bound as though 
he were a married man.” 

I was only putting a case to you,” she said frostily. 
“ Why you should imagine that I might care in the 
least for Monsieur de Limay, I don’t know. We 
don’t lose our heads.” 

And we — who are we ? ” 

‘‘ I am Irish,” she said rather as though she drew 
a sword. 

But even so, Mees Kate, you are human. Very 
likely I was quite wrong in speaking as I did, if so 
will you pardon me ? ” 

She relented on his words. ‘‘ After all, you can’t be 
expected to know any better,” she said with a touch 
of her father’s manner. “ You don’t understand.” 

Probably,” de Vrie said, pulling up a little root 
of grass and throwing it away. As you say, you 
are of another race, a strange, cold race of patriots, 
saints and gamblers, whose passions are not understood 
by us. You love death and you love chance like the 
pagan gods, but you do not love love. You are gay 
with a different gaiety to any we know, and you are 
sad with another sadness to ours. But I admit to you 
your fidelity, only I do not care for it — it is too set, 
too near to pride.” 

Pride,” she echoed his word, and then threw back 
her shining head with a reckless gesture. It takes 
keeping up, Georges, it’s costly. To be proud on 
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Blindfold 

borrowed francs — even five francs — isn’t altogether 
easy. There are times when I think the world is a 
hateful place, even when it is as beautiful as it looks 
to-day.” 

Tiens, tiens / ’’ he sat up and reproached her. 
“ This will never do. See, I will put to you another 
side to the problem. Amuse yourself. Why should 
you not ? Break Remi’s heart, it will do him good 
to suffer. Let him understand something of your own 
power and philosophy, and cure him once and for 
all. The role of Delila is as fresh as ever, ma fetite 
Mademoiselle^ and you might be amused to shear 
Remi’s locks. A shaved head carries no halo, they 
know that in prisons and in the army.” 

She leaned her chin on her arms and did not reply 
for a time. Bother Remi Limay,” she said at last. 

‘‘ That is what I feel,” de Vrie agreed. I do 
not want him. Let us throw him into the sea.” He 
took up a shell and flung it over the cliff. He has 
made us both angry and stupid this morning, and I 
wanted to talk of other things.” He looked at his 
watch. ‘‘ Now it is too late, for dejeuner is ready, 
and I must not offend the good Elise.” He patted 
the pocket of his coat suggestively. Come, Made- 
moiselle, away with melancholy. Francis will have 
landed a banker from Bordeaux at least, or a commer- 
gant from Cognac, and we shall be rich and gay.” 

Kate got up quickly and ran before him down the 
path towards the house, and for a moment de Vrie 
watched her before he followed her slowly. Ah 
well,” he said to the winds and the waves, ^^c^est la 
vie, what would you, cher, cher petit coeur ? ” 


172 


Chapter 1 4 

F rancis had found some one, and arrived at 
Trianon late for dinner, but considerably 
revived and encouraged. He had sat all day in a 
back room at a cafe and played ‘‘ cut throat ” with 
a man who puzzled him because he looked as if he 
had always exactly two days’ growth of beard on his 
chin. He had seen him before in Maurennes, and 
the instinct for quarry awakened in him even then, 
so that when they met and sacre'^d the dullness of 
affairs and the dullness of all places other than Paris, 
or Bordeaux, Francis had known exactly how to 
dangle the bait to a nicety. He was absolutely 
full of money, the brute,” he said, ‘‘ I knew he was, 
in spite of his chin, but he hasn’t quite so much now. 
He is staying at one of the expensive hotels where 
the tables are covered with flowers and nothing to 
eat. Has his own damned car, too. God ! I wonder 
how it’s done.” 

“ Wine or cheese,” Georges said wisely, unless 
it’s brandy.” 

Abominably dressed,” Francis went on, dealing 
delicately with his fish. ‘‘ Looked as if a dressmaker 
made his clothes, but solvent. He had somebody 

with him ” He pulled up short and glanced at 

Kate. Oh, they are a grubby crowd, these Charen- 

^73 


Blindfold 

tais. rd like to skin them. They’re padded with 
bank-notes. We sat in a dingy little hole of a place 
and I raised him, like a fish ; had him panting with 
his tongue hanging out, and he hated parting, so I 
suggested that he might like to go on.” He laughed 
coldly at the memory. 

And he said ‘ Mon brave, I will go on until my 
boots fall off,’ ” de Vrie suggested. 

Exactly — or something of the kind. It suited 
me very well.” 

The tall candles in the great silver candelabra on the 
centre of the table threw a pale light on to Kate’s 
head as she sat listening silently. 

‘‘ So don’t worry over our picquet,” her father 
continued, looking at de Vrie. We wash that out.” 

No, mon cher, impossible.” De Vrie was emphatic. 
“ That I shall never permit.” 

The night was hot and they decided to drink their 
coffee in the garden to the rising sound of the sea, 
and Kate sat close to Francis, who put his arm over 
the back of her chair. 

‘‘ Has it been dull for you all day ? ” he asked, 
watching the straight black shadows of the tall cedar 
tree falling on the whiteness of the house. “ Never 
mind, Kate, you will enjoy the Casino, though who 
you will find to dance with there, I can’t imagine. 
Not my commergant with his stubbly chin, for one. I 
take it, Georges, that, as usual, all your beau monde 
are too aristocratic to go to such a place ? ” 

“ Oh, they go. I used to go,” de Vrie laughed. 
‘‘We all did ten — ^fifteen years ago, and we danced 
and amused ourselves very well indeed, but, then, it 
is rather different for Mademoiselle.” 

“ It’s so odd, Kate ” — her father turned his dark 

174 


Blindfold 

eyes to her — to find myself a parent. I ought to 
take you seriously and I never can.” 

“ There is no reason -why you should.” She touched 
his sleeve with her cheek. Not the smallest. I 
shall amuse myself, and some one will turn up, or 
if they don’t, I can watch.” She thought of the 
Bal Coquelicot. 

But I ought to. I add abominably to my sins 
these days, my girl. Still I don’t imagine that you 
are sorry, are you ? ” 

You know I am not.” 

De Vrie got up and walked away to the glimmering 
white of the terrace, humming to himself as he 
went. 

‘‘ Honestly Kate — as man to man ? ” 

‘‘ Quite honestly. I only wish I had money . . .” 
She broke off as he caught her wrist suddenly. 

Never wish that,” he said with a curious touch 
of passion. ‘‘ If you had I’d cheat you out of it, I’d 
see that you didn’t keep a cent for yourself, and I’d 
swindle you without a qualm. You wonder why ? 
So do I, sometimes, but God knows.” He loosened 
her hand again. “ I admit that I’m crooked.” He 
admitted it most openly. ‘‘ I have done things you 
would rather starve than do, and it hasn’t mattered 
to me. I don’t tell you what they are, because I 
haven’t even begun to bother about them, and you 
would — you’d feel it a bit, Kate. Only what I wanted 
to say was, that I’m glad Laurie was firm about 
money — she was always good at that, and so it won’t 
be up against me that I stole from you.” 

‘‘ I’d give — ” Kate said with a queer stifled feeling 
at her heart. 

“ And I’d take. Ask Laurie.” He laughed again. 
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Blindfold 

“ Ask Georges, ask — by Gad, if I begin Fll have to 
give you a pretty long list of creditors.” 

‘‘ If Monsieur de Limay comes, you wonH play with 
him, will you Francis ? ” Kate’s voice was pleading. 

De Limay, damn de Limay.” He sat forward and 
leaned his arms on the table. Why is he different 
to the fellow I met to-day, or any fellow I meet any 
other day ? Don’t be such a fool, Kate, de Limay 
has obsessed you, and you talk as if he were different 
to anyone else. I have no mind at all ” — he spoke 
emphatically — to meet de Limay in any specially 
friendly mood. I don’t trust him, and I can’t be 
after you with a shawl and a respirator ” — he grew 
irritable and impatient — I shall take my own line 
with him.” 

The very mention of Remi had broken up the unity 
of a moment back, and they both saw him, mentally, 
and saw him, after the way of human nature, quite 
differently. 

It was not exactly of him I was thinking,” Kate 
said with a shade of reproach in her voice. 

I know, you were thinking of me.” He got up. 
‘‘ Thinking that de Limay would size me up and 
the addition wouldn’t amount to much. It’s very 
nice of you, Kate, but not at all necessary. Georges,” 
he called, come in, I’ve thought out a system for 
your little Casino, that will make the Syndicat dUnitia- 
tive sit up.” 

Kate remained in the garden, and through the tall 
windows she saw de Vrie and her father sitting at a 
table, their heads together with a number of sheets 
of paper scattered about them. They were utterly 
engrossed and Francis had forgotten her very existence. 
A sense of loneliness swept over her. She had allied 
176 


Blindfold 

herself to her father, arid found that he really did 
not want her, except as an accessory to life. To place 
her as high as anything so important as a duty was 
beyond his intention. She had gained her rather 
objectless freedom, and knew that Francis would 
miss her if she were not there, but that was all, so 
she sat in the shadows listening to the wash of the 
sea and waited. 

In the end he came out and found her just where 
he had left her, and putting his hands on her shoulders 
looked down at her white little face. 

Kate, Fve given you a sore heart,” he said gently, 
“ but I do care for you. There are times when I 
realize all you’ve sacrificed for me, and when I do, 
I wonder whether I shall ever repay you. One of 
these days, perhaps.” He looked out to the misty 
darkness that lay like a veil between sea and sky. 
‘‘ Things don’t go on for ever, and something will 
happen. . . .” 

She turned to him and held his arms tightly. I 
don’t want you to think of me like that,” she said. 

‘‘ I don’t want to myself,” he said slowly, and 
holding her arm, they went into the house together. 

The opening of the Casino was a great event for 
the little party at Trianon, and after dinner they 
got into the one carriage which Bergerac afforded, 
and raced down the hill to Maurennes. The lights 
of the ships in the harbour dotted the bay like large 
stars with long torch-like reflections in the water, 
red and yellow and intensely clear and bright. Mau- 
rennes was awakening from sleep, and there were signs 
of life in the cafe, where people sat under strong 
head lights, with the careless idleness of a holiday 
crowd. The grounds of the Casino were lighted with 
177 M 


Blindfold 

large electric lamps, and the great flight of steps 
at the entrance carpeted with red velvet. 

Kate felt her spirits rise on wings, and some of the 
old Paris feeling caught her again. She had enjoyed 
her first taste of Paris so entirely that it was good to 
recapture it once more, and her father was by now 
thoroughly himself. Georges, too, was gay and 
childishly pleased to see Kate’s enjoyment of the 
experience. She was wearing her close little hat with 
its bunch of blue ribbons at the side, and a black dress 
that Aunt Laurie had bought her their first week in 
Paris. 

The entrance hall was rather disappointingly 
empty, and to the left, where the gambling tables 
were, the croupiers sat disconsolately waiting for 
people to come and play. They were a curiously 
soured collection of men, and for an instant, Kate 
felt as though they might all have been waxwork 
figures escaped out of Madame Tussaud’s, but on 
the arrival of Georges and her father, two of them 
brightened into life and bowed with great politeness. 

Ah ga J de Vrie said, touching Huntingdon’s 
arm, there is Collet, you remember Collet, and 
Garanciere.” 

“ I should think I do,” Francis laughed dryly. 
“ Collet raked in my last cent a year ago.” He 
crossed the polished floor and spoke to the croupier, 
who looked around, shrugged his shoulders and 
obviously expressed his contempt for his present 
surroundings. 

“He says” — Francis returned to where Georges 
and Kate were standing — that these people are the 
most awful cowards, no one stakes more than five 
francs a time — there isn’t a genuine gambler in the 
178 


Blindfold 

whole outfit. Poor old Collet, it breaks his heart, 
and he is full of apologies.” 

‘‘ What matter ” — Georges took Collet’s despair 
lightly — ‘‘ there is the Bank, and here we are. Even 
if we have a duel with our old friends it is none the 
less amusing.” 

The play which was being acted in the theatre was 
still going on, for the entr'^acte had not yet been reached, 
and Francis was not in any special hurry to begin. 
He suggested that they should take Kate into the 
cafe and watch the dancing for a little, before they 
settled down. A feeling of disappointment was 
growing upon Kate, and she followed them, looking 
around at the red and gilt vastness of the halls. 

The ball-room opened off the hall, and at one side 
there were tables where coffee was served, and where 
the musicians were sitting, quarrelling among them- 
selves. They were not like the musicians at the 
Bal Coquelicot^ but, as the croupiers looked like wax- 
work figures, the musicians resembled statesmen or 
members of the Academie Frangaise. They had 
untidy beards and untidy hair, and a prehistoric look 
as though they had jumped out of the pages of an 
illustrated magazine, published before Kate herself 
had been born or thought of. One of them especially 
looked as though he might have invented the light- 
house or discovered vaccine. The ball-room itself 
was still in semi-obscurity, and a few people lurked 
in the shadows, waiting for the music to begin. 

By Gad, Georges, I can’t say that I think your 
Casino is exactly gay,” Francis remarked as they 
sat down and he ordered coffee and liqueurs. “ What 
sort of place is it ? ” He glanced at the neighbouring 
tables where a stout woman in spectacles sat between 
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Blindfold 

two children, one of them hardly more than a baby. 
Next to them, a woman in black silk with white thread 
stockings and canvas shoes was reddening her lips 
with a stick of carmine, and three or four burly young 
men in check clothes and stocks, tied very badly, 
drank silently. 

It is not at its best just now,” de Vrie agreed, 
‘‘ but later on the fun begins.” 

“ Does it ? ” Huntingdon was evidently doubtful. 
“ Look here, Kate, will it bore you to sit and watch 
for an hour or two ? ” 

“ No, it won’t,” she laughed. I rather enjoy 
it. It’s all so new.” She watched the musicians, 
who had finished their coffee and their argument, 
get up like wrathful deputes and cross the room to 
the corner reserved for the band, and immediately 
all the lights were turned on. A Japanese, with a 
face of inscrutable calm, smoked a cigar near where 
they sat, and with the arrival of the lights, a crowd 
of people came from the theatre and assembled in 
the ball-room. The music burst out, and one or 
two couples began to dance very formally. Large 
families of squarely shaped provinciaux sat together, 
distrustful of every one else, and young men who 
cast arch looks around, made their ways towards 
sofas where girls in pale pink or pale green muslin 
sat demurely, trying to appear detached and uncon- 
scious of their approach. 

‘‘ Upon my soul, Georges,” Francis said, bursting 
into a laugh, “ this is a show. I feel as if I had come 
to a school treat. No wonder poor old Collet has got 
the cafardy and feels homesick for Monte Carlo. 
It’s about time we went and cheered him up.” He 
got up from his chair, and patted Kate’s shoulder. 
i8o 


Blindfold 

“ Anyhow, I can leave you with a clear conscience,” 
he said in his careless way. ‘‘ I defy even the queen 
of folly, if there is such a person, to get into mischief 
in this crowd.” 

But they are good, honest people,” Georges 
said, taking up the cudgels for his compatriots, ‘‘ and 
they are enjoying themselves harmlessly.” 

That’s just it,” Francis agreed. I hate the 
Provinces. There’s my man ” — he indicated his friend 
of the day before — ‘‘ and his beard is still two days old. 
I’d like to know how he does it, short of a miracle I 
can’t think of any reason.” 

They went off together, still talking, and Kate 
was left by the table. The crowd were all utterly 
strange to her and they depressed her. Dance music 
that she knew, was played intolerably slowly by the 
bearded men, who she now believed to be all dis- 
appointed composers, with a grudge against other 
people’s success, and the dancers moved in circles, 
ignorant of the palsied shiver of the shimmey, or 
the dives and swoops of the Boston. They just 
waltzed round and round. 

She watched their faces, and wondered why it 
was that Bordeaux made people fat, just as Paris 
seemed to make them thin, and why time stood still 
in some parts of the world, and raced violently in 
others. They were all intensely decorous, and one 
woman whose hair had arrived at being bobbed, 
and who had a pinched and needy look as though 
her luck was permanently out, seemed ostracized 
and isolated, left alone in her unprofitable wickedness. 

One or two young men in choking white stocks 
looked discreetly at Kate, and then looked away 
again, and a battered Republican with a tricolour in 
i8i 


Blindfold 


his button-hole and one eye missing, a panama hat 
pulled well over his head, smiled in her direction. 

After half a dozen dances had been played, Kate 
became aware that a man in very fashionable clothes 
was standing near her, with a shy look of recognition 
in his eyes, and she started as though awakened from 
sleep. It was the gargon coifeur from Chariots in 
the place Pigalle, who had more than once shampooed 
her hair. He bowed and flushed violently, and Kate 
spoke to him. 

“ What in the world brings you here ? ” she 
asked. 

I spend three months of the year at Maurennes, 
Mademoiselle,” he said. “ I try to improve the appear- 
ance of the ladies.” 'i 

That is very kind of you,” Kate said. 

‘‘ And Mademoiselle is here to take sea baths. Ah, 
how different it all is to Paris.” 

She agreed with the warmth of deep conviction. 
‘‘ And they dance so badly,” she added. 

The gargon coifeur gripped his hat violently. ‘‘ I 
do not dare to suggest . . .” he said, but at least 
I know the steps.” He looked desperately frightened 
at his own audacity. 

The disgruntled bandsmen struck up again, and 
Kate’s youth overtook her. After all, what did it 
matter ? The gargon coi-ffeur was as well conducted 
as a man might be, and it was wretchedly dull sitting 
there watching all the fat people dance. 

^ “ I’ll dance with you, if you like,” she said impul- 
sively. Francis wouldn’t mind, he didn’t mind any- 
thing, and Georges would only laugh. The gargon 
coifeur represented some one who could dance, and 
Kate got up,^^^ 


182 


Blindfold 

“ Let US dance, then,” she said, raising her chin 
and looking extremely frigid. 

At least the gar^on coifeur could dance, and after 
a moment or two, Kate realized that they were attract- 
ing the attention of the whole room. They dived 
and swooped, paused and shivered, caused the conduc- 
tor to wave his baton with a kind of ecstasy, and even 
to burst into scraps of song. The dense crowd 
at the further end of the room stood petrified, staring 
at them, and in the great moment of his success, 
Kate’s partner outdid himself. 

“ One could almost believe one was back in Paris,” 
he said in a breathless voice as the music ceased, and 
they stood in the centre of the room. 

Kate looked instinctively towards the gang of people 
who still had their eyes on her, regarding her probably 
as a paid dancer, brought there from Paris by the 
Syndicat Initiative, and her heart began to beat 
intolerably fast. She could think she was back in 
Paris — the words were only too true, and the cold 
sense of having lost all power in her arms came upon 
her as it had once before. 

A little behind the barrier, and away from the crowd, 
a man was standing watching with the rest, and his 
eyes met hers. Was she never to meet Remi de 
Limay, except under circumstances which were always 
painful for her ? She had done it herself this time. 
She could throw no blame on the gargon coifeur, 
who had behaved perfectly, but as she went back 
to her seat at the table, her neck as well as her cheeks 
were a vivid pink. 

I enjoyed it very much,” she said, dismissing her 
partner, who bowed and retreated, as Remi came 
towards her. 

183 


Blindfold 


‘‘ Who were you dancing with ? ’’ he asked. He 
didn’t even say that he was glad, or surprised to 
see her, but shot out his question with abrupt and 
angry directness. 

‘‘ The gargon coiffeur from Chariot^ s in the place 
Pigalle,” she retorted. “ He dances very well.” 

Remi sat down beside her and made no reply. 


184 


Chapter 1 5 

H e was thinking of his resolution to go and see 
her, and how he had gone to the house in 
the rue du Chateau only to find that Kate and her 
father had left. The concierge refused to say where 
they had gone, until he bribed her sufficiently heavily, 
and his astonishment when she produced a grubby 
piece of paper with the address of his aunt’s house 
at Bergerac written upon it was great. 

He felt that Kate had made a fool of him. Reserve 
was all very well, but she had deliberately misled him 
by her silence, and his chief desire to see her at once 
turned on a wish to say squarely and clearly that she 
should not have behaved so to him of all men. Why 
to him, he didn’t know, but he felt sure of it. She 
had let him think that she was remaining in Paris, 
let him talk as he had of de Vrie and his friends — 
the people he was likely to collect at Trianon — and all 
the time, behind her non-committal attitude, she 
knew that she herself was on the very eve of depar- 
ture. It made him angry every time he thought of 
it, and he took the train south in a state of steady 
indignation. 

When he arrived at Trianon, Elise informed him 
that de Vrie, Huntingdon and Kate had gone to the 
Casino, which was what he ought to have guessed, 
185 


Blindfold 

and as he was already tired, his temper had not im- 
proved for the better by the time he walked into the 
gambling-rooms. Georges and Francis Huntingdon 
were too deeply engrossed to notice his arrival, and 
were miles away in a fabulous land of imaginary gold, 
and as Kate was not anywhere near them, Remi went 
in the direction of the music. Kate was dancing 
with the frosty abandon that he knew so well, and 
attracting a most maddening amount of attention. 
The man she was dancing with affronted him, and 
he looked at the cheap effect, the over-flushed face 
of the luckless gargon coi-ffeur, and wanted to wring 
his miserable neck. He was some impossible young 
shop-assistant who had passed himself off as better 
than he was, or, possibly a pigeon with enough feathers 
for Francis to desire to pluck. 

Kate, a stranger among strangers, could not be 
blamed. He would not blame her, even though he 
felt that she ought to have known better. Her 
ignorance of France was her excuse, just as her ignor- 
ance of argot had made it possible for her to laugh 
at the song sung by the drunken old patron of La 
Butte. 

Remi, cool, well dressed, and scornful, waited until 
the music ceased and made his way towards her. 
If the gargon coi-ffeur had dared to linger, his fate 
would have been a cruel one. 

Having heard from Kate, with all the directness of 
a rifle shot, that her late partner was at least not 
masquerading, Remi sat silently looking before him, 
and his anger rose up again. Anger is a hydra- 
headed monster and Kate, with her chin up and her 
eyes as hard as northern ice, did nothing to reduce 
it to calm. 


Blindfold 

‘‘ I heard at Trianon, that we are so fortunate as 
to have you as our guest,” he said, speaking to her 
in French. It was a small sign of how he felt, and at 
that moment Remi de Limay was tricolour through- 
out. 

I suppose you think I ought to have said so, that 
night.” Kate looked away. 

‘‘ Is there any ‘ ought ’ in it ? ” he asked. 

“ Of course there is ” — she tapped on the table with 
restless fingers — but I can’t very well begin by 
apologizing to you for existing.” 

It is all the greater pleasure, because of my sur- 
prise,” he said and his eyes softened, because what 
he said was really true. “ Only, why did you dance 
with that person ? ” 

‘‘ I made him dance with me.” She looked angrily 
at Remi. Why should I not ? I do not happen 
to be so much better than anyone else, that I have 
to look down upon the whole world.” 

“ And you think I am like that ? ” 

I know you are. You can’t deny it.” 

There are differences,” he objected, you would 
admit it yourself if you weren’t so angry with me.” 

I am not angry with you,” Kate rephed un- 
truthfully. 

‘‘ I met your uncle just as I was leaving Paris,” 
he said, with an effort to get away from the burning 
question. He had been over in London at a wed- 
ding of a cousin. You have spoken of him.” 

‘‘ Not Robert Lewis ? ” she asked, suddenly inter- 
ested. ^VHas he married Aunt Laurie ? ” She felt 
glad and hurt at the same time, because no one had 
told her, and it was for this very end that she had 
originally gone away to Francis. 

187 


Blindfold 

“ He married a widow,” Limay said, ‘‘ so far as I 
remember; your uncle said that it was a resurrected 
romance, and smelt of mortality — ^you know his way 
of putting things.” 

Then he hasn’t married Aunt Laurie.” Kate’s 
face fell. 

‘‘ Are you so sorry as all that ? ” Limay asked. 

‘‘ Yes I am.” She retired again to limitless distances, 
and a silence fell between them. 

Do you like Maurennes ? ” he asked when the 
pause had lasted a long time. 

“ I like Bergerac ” — she looked around the ball- 
room — ‘‘ but not as I love Paris, don’t expect me to 
be sentimental about it.” 

‘‘ Certainly not,” he agreed, ‘‘ who is ? ” 

“ Monsieur de Vrie, and probably you are,” she 
said, “ but we aren’t sentimental.” 

‘‘ And who are ‘ we ’ ? ” he asked, just as Georges 
had once asked her. 

The wicked, abominable Irish.” She flared up 
hotly. “ I am Irish, what worse can you say of me ? ” 

“ You are in a very bad temper,” he said, speaking 
English again. 

You told me,” she went on, ‘‘ that Georges would 
collect his impossible friends at Trianon, and he has. 
We are both of us there. Francis is trying his system 
at the tables, but so far, we haven’t sold any of the 
furniture.” 

Mademoiselle, be fair.” He looked very white 
suddenly and his eyes darkened. 

I thought you would like to know,” she laughed. 
“ It might be a relief to your mind.” 

“ But it isn’t fair play,” he said, “ and you know 
it.” 


i88 


Blindfold 

You criticize me for dancing with a gargon coif- 
feur , she said quickly. ‘‘ Why shouldn’t I ? I am 
not anyone myself, and I don’t mind who people are 
if they behave decently. You make me think of the 
Pharisee who thanked God that he was a snob.” She 
felt herself tremble as the force of her feelings swept 
her. And now I am being inexcusably rude and 
personal, but it is your own fault.” 

A sudden recollection of what de Vrie had told 
her about Eugenie de Saint Roque came over her 
mind. Eugenie would never have lost her temper 
disgracefully or danced with a gargon coifeur in a 
place like the Casino, never. She would say all the 
right things, and be hatefully aware of her long 
ancestry ; her mother would wear expensive black 
clothes and large diamond solitaire ear-rings, there 
would be a brother with a waist, and a father with 
a little beard, and they would all be devoted to one 
another. The very idea of the Saint Roque family 
as imagined by Kate exasperated her ; there would 
be four or five other sisters, all dressed alike ; she 
pinched her hands together under the table, and 
hated them all, with their chateau thrown in. 

I don’t mind,” Remi said pacifically. It is 
very good for one to hear the truth about oneself, 
though hardly flattering. As a matter of fact. I’m 
so glad to get you here on any terms, that I am going 
to apologize at once. I was ridiculously angry, and 
if you wanted to dance with the bootblack or the 
chasseur, you are perfectly right to do so.” 

But the thought of Eugenie having made its cold 
way into her heart, Kate was not placated. I don’t 
think we shall stay long,” she said indifferently, 
‘‘ certainly not if I can persuade my father to leave.” 

189 


Blindfold 

“ That is really unkind,” he said quickly. 

“ You know that you regard us as vagabonds, vag- 
rants, the sort of people whom you couldn’t pro- 
duce.” She laughed as she spoke. And our side of 
the question is one you would not ever see. I would 
rather tramp the roads with Francis, than belong to 
your world. It’s much more amusing, and besides 
it is real. What sort of reality is there in the life 
your jeunes filles lead ? ” 

My jeunes filles, as you call them, are to be pitied,” 
he agreed. He was wondering why she was still so 
cross. There was rebellion in every line of her body, 
and mutiny in her eyes, and her anger had grown 
nearly impersonal. She might have been a young 
defute arraigning the Chamhre for political crimes. 

‘‘ The sheltered life,” she went on scornfully, 
‘‘ what use is it ? Read your own novels, I think 
they are simply revolting, and where is your sense of 
decency ? ” 

I begin to feel that it doesn’t exist.” He laughed 
quite naturally. “ In the name of my country, I 
apologize.” 

‘‘ You do things that you should be ashamed of, 
and consider it perfectly admirable ; your manners, 
of course, are good, I admit that, but behind 
them ” She made a gesture of disgust. 

Then it is a very lucl^ thing that you have not 
the misfortune to be French,” he said, for he was 
growing irritable again. What more can I say ? ” 

They sat silent for a time and he looked at his 
watch. Have you had enough of the Casino ? ” 
he asked, ‘‘or do you want to wait ? ” 

She took immediate offence. “ I suppose you 
mean that I am waiting to dance with that in- 
190 


Blindfold 

offensive creature,” she said ; “ I am not, but Mon- 
sieur de Vrie and my father are still gambling, and I 
must wait for them.” 

‘‘ There is no need for yon to wait, I can take you 
home,” Remi said, getting up. And don’t let us 
fight any more, it is too exhausting. Let us agree 
that I am detestable, but, as you admitted that my 
manners were passable, we can avoid storms, can’t 
we ? ” 

‘‘ But your manners are not good ” — Kate got up 
— “ I never said they were. It’s so small-minded 
to take generalities to yourself, it shows vanity.” 

‘‘ Very well, my manners are atrocious, but I have 
a kind heart.” He stood aside to let her pass out in 
front of him. 

A fair number of people had gathered round the 
tables and the sound of the roulette ball, the mono- 
tonous voice of the croupier and the steady concen- 
trated attention of the few players seemed to have 
driven Time away and established a kind of vacuum 
in space, just large enough for themselves. 

De Vrie looked delighted, and even the sight of 
Remi did not damp his spirits, his system had suc- 
ceeded, but Francis betrayed absolutely nothing in 
his eyes or attitude. He appeared to be completely 
indifferent and Kate could not guess how financial 
affairs were going, from watching him. She was 
proud of him as she stood by Remi de Limay. Francis 
had kept so much that any other man would have 
lost years back, and he stood out in the undistinguished 
crowd, tall and well built, with his charm and his 
easy effect of having everything the gods of the world 
had to give. Once he looked up, caught her eye 
and smiled at her, glanced on to Limay, and just 
191 


Blindfold 

acknowledged his existence before he watched Collet 
rake up a pile of red counters with his wicked-looking 
little rake. 

Are 70U coming ? ” Remi asked patiently. 

‘‘ Not until they are ready.” Kate sat down. She 
felt that watching Francis play was rather too absorb- 
ing a form of entertainment. A heavy-looking woman 
with a small boy dressed in a white sailor suit sat be- 
side her, and was also waiting for the dernier coup ” 
to be called. 

“ One should always play on Sunday,” she said 
turning to Kate, “ only my husband will not wait.” 

“ Men are impatient,” Kate replied ; she was feel- 
ing tired out, and a dreadful impression that Francis 
was losing had taken hold of her. 

The rooms closed at midnight, and she watched 
the ornate clock with weary eyes. 

Remi was playing, but without the least interest 
in what he did, and fortune favoured him, for after 
a few minutes he came back to where she sat, with a 
bundle of notes crumpled up in his hand. 

“ They are just finishing,” he said, “ so that even 
Georges de Vrie will have to stop, and we can get 
away. You look dead tired.” 

‘‘ I am not tired,” she said dully. She had lost 
heart for further fight, and could only contradict. 

“ What shall I do with these ? ” He sat down beside 
her. Give them to Monsieur le Cure ? ” 

. ‘‘ Are you always so righteous,” she said, “ do you 
never do anything that isn’t absolutely correct ? ” 

‘‘ Never,” he laughed. “I am a model of the 
virtues.” 

As he spoke, the dernier coup was called, and the 
crowd began to disperse. De Vrie came towards 
192 


Blindfold 

them and held out his hand to Remi, and they met 
with great friendliness. A moment later Francis 
joined them and spoke to de Limay, but without any 
warmth of manner, and turning to Kate he said that 
it was time to leave. 

She got up quickly and slipped her arm through 
his. 

“ Have you had any luck ? ” she asked as they went 
down the steps. 

Nothing to speak of.” He evidently did not wish 
to discuss the question. Let us get on ahead of 
the others, Kate.” 

They walked on through the gates and on up the 
hill silently, taking the footpath by the cliffs. The 
night was breathlessly still, the voice of the sea had 
dropped to a gentle whisper, and a low veil of dark- 
ness lay along the horizon, a pallid sea below and a 
wide starry sky above. In the quiet Kate’s anger 
fell away from her, and she was ashamed of herself. 
What was it to her whether Remi de Limay was 
engaged to a girl out of his own exclusive circle, or 
not ? He had been a good friend to her whenever 
they had met, and honest, and instead of realizing 
this, she had lost her temper and made a fool of her- 
self. The world was a puzzling place for the young. 
Later on, when you grew as old as Francis, you be- 
came used to it, and could treat it all differently, or 
if you were like Georges de Vrie you expected nothing 
and remained a sentimentalist. Youth asked for the 
impossible, and could not understand that most 
people are lonely and numbers of them very sad, 
that fighting is not always ennobling and that it is 
best to be tolerant and kind, because if you are not, 
you only wound your own poor heart. 

193 


N 


Blindfold 

In some dim way she realized that nothing was an 
end in itself, and that everything combined to make a 
steady current which swept on to the sunset where 
all things ended, so far as the green planet was 
concerned. 

Francis had said that they lived like the fowls of 
the air and the lilies of the field, but it was far from 
the fact, as a hole in her silk stocking informed her. 
If only they could. He was very silent as he walked 
beside her, and she knew that he was thinking in 
numbers and that the click of the ghostly roulette 
ball was the obligato of his thoughts. 

She wondered for a moment what God thought of 
Francis ; a man with such a vehement love of life 
and cafes and streets, gambling-rooms, and trains 
going off through the night. From behind her the 
voice of Georges singing joyously, reached her in the 
still air; evidently Remi was not in a conversational 
mood. 


“ Que craignons-nouSy deV amour qui nous hlesse F 
Que craignons — nous 
Des traits d^un dieu si doux ? 

Nos coeurs sont faits four suivre la tendresse ...” 

The refrain melted away into silence. 

‘‘ I hope you weren’t bored to death,” Huntingdon 
remarked suddenly. Poor little Kate, I do give you 
a bad time of it.” 

‘‘ I wasn’t bored.” She took his arm again. “ I did 
a dreadful thing, Francis, I danced with the gargon 
coifeurimm Chariot^ s, and Monsieur de Limay caught 
me red-handed. He was dreadfully shocked.” 

Then if he was, he needn’t have been. I don’t 
trust men who are shocked at nothing:.” 

194 


Blindfold 

You see, he is French,” she said apologetically. , 
Francis looked out to the darkening sea. 

I lost my temper ” — Kate spoke penitently — a 
thing I hate to do, it makes one so hot and prickly.” 

And I lost most of the money I got out of the 
man with the beard” — Francis laughed ruefully — a 
far worse affair. I foresee a front seat in the work- 
house, and a vile journey back to Paris by slow train, 
third class.” 

Is it as bad as that ? ” she inquired anxiously. 

Not yet, and with luck I may get it back again.” 
They had reached the steps leading up to Trianon, 
and the house stood whitely against the night sky 
with its large stone baskets giving it the effect of 
Sevres china. Run off, Kate,” Francis said abruptly, 
I will say good night to the others for you.” 

She went up the step without looking back. 


^95 


Chapter 1 6 

M ost men are subject to sudden changes of 
mood, and after the arrival of Remi de Limay, 
Francis Huntingdon went through a period of rather 
unexpected reform. Reformation has its disadvan- 
tages as well as its advantages, and de Limay, for 
one, could have dispensed with the alteration. 

Instead of leaving Kate to her own devices until 
it was time to go down to Maurennes, her father 
spent his time with her, taking her for long walks 
in the blue mornings, and spending the afternoons 
lying on the sandy grass at her feet. He seemed to 
have deliberately gone back to a former period of his 
life when he had been interested in other things than 
play, and Remi realized that he was up against a 
difficult problem. 

So far, Francis had hardly troubled to keep Kate’s 
loyal allegiance to him, and took it for granted, but 
now he was making a definite effort' to capture it 
for good, and to defeat any idea de Limay might 
cherish for setting up a new and different object of 
adoration in her heart. There was no declared war 
between the two men, and yet Huntingdon’s cold 
detestation of human passion when it took the form 
of love was perfectly evident to Remi de Limay. 
He wanted all that Kate had to give for himself, 


Blindfold 

and wanted her deliberately to refuse the garlands 
natural to her age. To arrive at this, he met Remi 
on a kind of debatable ground, a no-man’s land, where 
he had immense power if he wished to assert it. 
That he had never used his power over her so far 
made it all the more potent, and Kate showed her 
pride and happiness in the change in her very looks. 
She saw Francis at his best and as she had never 
expected to see him. 

Under the spell of his personality, the evenings she 
spent with Remi de Limay were by no means as 
profitable as Remi could have wished. She did not go 
to the Casino and neither did he, but the ghostly 
presence of Francis hung in the air, and came defi- 
nitely between them. And he imagined that Francis 
laughed in his heart at the defeat he inflicted with 
such ease. 

The party was split in twain, and Georges de Vrie, 
who had perforce to watch himself because of Remi 
and the dissatisfying atmosphere he introduced, 
fraught with recollections of Tante Sophie, became 
more thoughtful and less hilarious, even though he 
was winning steadily at the tables. Remi, abrupt 
and rather grim, behaved as well as he could, and 
Huntingdon was always polite, with the finished and 
maddening politeness of a much older man who 
regarded him as rather crude and stupid. 

Kate appeared perfectly contented. She had got 
Francis to herself, and was in the position of some one 
who is reading an absorbing book, while the rest of 
the company have not the same distraction. Her 
father afforded her perpetual and engrossing interest, 
and they were on one side of the gap, all but entirely 
indifferent to the others. 

197 


Blindfold 

It was Georges who tackled the situation as he and 
Francis walked down the hill to Maurennes under a 
gorgeous sunset sky, 

“ I never thought to have to lecture you, mon 
cheTy"^ he said, hesitating a little as he spoke, but 
it is too bad of you.” 

‘‘ What is ? ” Huntingdon asked laconically. 

This ruthlessness. I do not like it, it is not 
nice.” 

“ I don’t know what you are talking about,” 
Francis said indifferently. If you want to say 
anything, say it and avoid subtlety.” 

Now, Francis, now, my old friend, do not be 
hasty. I mean that you are interfering with the 
rights of youth.” 

In what way ? I suppose you refer to Kate and 
de Limay ? ” 

Perfectly. They are young and they ought to 
have all that youth only can give. Instead, what 
do I see ? I see you stand and prevent it.” 

Good God, Georges, you are difficult to please.” 
Francis stood still and looked at him. Once you 
told me that I neglected Kate shamefully or shame- 
lessly, I forget which. Now you are flying round 
like a sentimental bat, hitting me in the face, and 
calling me a spoil-sport.” 

Georges shook his head and took off his hat, allow- 
ing the cool air to play on his smooth hair. ‘‘ Remi 
is to be trusted,” he said, even if he is not a pros- 
pective husband, I go no further than that. You are 
old and you have had your day — I also — several days 
— and it pains me to see that you are a cannibal and 
prepared to eat your own daughter’s heart. It is 
not nice, Francis.” 


198 


Blindfold 

‘‘ I suppose you mean that she prefers my society 
to that of an unlicked young cub. Can you blame 
her ? ” 

‘‘ I do not blame her ” — they walked on again — ‘‘ it 
is you that I blame. You have always had a depth 
of cruelty in you. Excess of any quality calls for my 
admiration, since le bon Dieu only gave me so little a 
spoonful of everything myself, and I am good and bad 
in a small way. But I do not like to see the young 
squeezed dry. You might let them play, you really 
might, mon vieuxJ^'^ 

“ And what for ? To give your relative a chance 
of breaking her heart ? Would that be what you 
call ‘ nice ’ ? I want Kate to avoid those pitfalls. 
She might enjoy it for the weeks we are likely to be 
here, but afterwards ? You admit he can’t marry 
her. I hate the very name of marriage, but I’m still 
sufficiently contradictory to resent the idea of a man 
amusing himself at her expense.” 

De Vrie sighed. You are so concrete,” he 
objected, so hard, so deliberately unkind, and let 
us not speak of marriage, let us speak of love.” 

Francis made an exclamation of disgust. 

‘‘ It affronts you, I know, but it exists,” Georges 
said with a touch of temper. What harm will it 
do ? I assure you that Remi may be trusted. He 
is very much e'prisy he is very unhappy about it.” 

Then let him go away, or let him put salt on 
Kate’s tail — if he’s fit to.” 

It would be good for both of them. Mademoi- 
selle Kate is not a graven image, Francis, and it 
is her right to have songs made to her and flowers 
left on her table, to experience all the charming and 
innocent entertainment of such events. You are 
199 


Blindfold 

asking her to renounce her memories ” — once more 
de Vrie sighed and looked at the rose-coloured sky ; 
“ you say, in effect, ‘ I want your youth, and I 
will have it.’ I cannot bear it silently, and for that 
reason I have spoken.” 

They were on the outskirts of Maurennes, and 
Francis walked more quickly. Let him take her if 
he can,” he said, I shall do nothing to prevent it. 
So far, she doesn’t seem exactly keen about it.” 

You are using your strength wickedly,” de Vrie 
said with a quick gesture of his hands. 

Kate was sitting on the bare grass of the cliffs, her 
eyes on the same gorgeous sunset. Great clouds built up 
like pillars stood to the west, and to the east, where 
the colour was pale lavender-grey, the white moun- 
tains that changed their shape slowly, burnt with 
reflected light. Remi had come with her, and was 
sitting at a little distance, his head turned a^vay, 
and they were both quite silent. 

‘‘ I wonder what luck they will have to-night.” 
Kate said suddenly, for she had been thinking of 
Francis. 

“ You were right about Georges ” — de Limay turned 
to her — ‘‘ he is a good sort. I never really knew any- 
thing of him before.” 

“ Yes he is,” she agreed. He is the kind of man 
who goes out and sells his sleeve-links for a friend. 
That is what I can understand.” 

‘‘I see what you mean,” Remi said slowly. 

‘‘ He never has anything of his own, and never 
would. If your detestable old Tante Sophie left him 
a fortune, it would be exactly the same in a year’s 
time.” 


200 


Blindfold 

‘‘ There is no chance of her doing anything so 
unusual.” 

Of course not.” Kate’s clear voice was defiant. 

I began to learn French in a book called Les Mal- 
heurs de Sophie, I wish your aunt would inherit 
them.” 

What is the end of people like Georges ? ” he 
asked meditatively. Where do they go to ? ” 

Kate grew very quiet and clasped her hands over 
her knees. I wish I knew. It bothers me. Where 
do we go ? We never root in, anywhere. People 
know us as birds of passage, and sometimes we owe 
money and can’t go back. Everything changes so 
quickly. Francis has some money, but we can’t make 
it last, and I suppose we shall all die in a train.” She 
laughed quite carelessly. ‘‘ I see no other alternative. 
But it’s a good life and I like it.” 

‘‘ You will marry. Mademoiselle,” he said. 

“ And leave Francis ? How foolish you are. Who 
else could take his place ? You have seen him and 
known him a little, so you understand better.” 

De Limay said nothing. He did know Francis 
better but liked him none the more. 

‘‘ In any case we don’t believe in that kind of 
thing.” 

The last time you said ‘ we,’ you were speaking 
for the Irish ; who are you representing now ? ” he 
asked. 

Francis and myself, of course.” 

‘‘ And do you never ” — he got up and sat closer to 
her — ‘‘ do you never really speak entirely for your- 
self ? ” 

‘‘ You mean that I am an echo ? ” 

Not in the least, but you are far too — how shall 
201 


Blindfold 

I put it — universal. Come down from the general 
to the particular and tell me honestly if you feel that 
love is a merely futile weakness or, like an attack of 
measles, something that can be avoided with care.” 

He had put his hands, throbbing and warm, over 
hers as he spoke, and she did not move. 

“ I don’t know how anyone in the world could 
interest me, or give that same feeling of value that 
Francis does,” she said quite frankly. He has 
everything. Experience, and his wonderful under- 
standing, as well as being so different from anyone 
else. You can’t compare Georges de Vrie to him, 
and there is no one I know who can bear the 
comparison.” 

Remi lifted his hand quickly from hers. ‘‘ He is 
old,” he said bitterly, “ and he has no right to you. 
It is all pretence. He wants to keep you out of the 
most deliberate selfishness. Why should he ? ” 

Why does it matter ? ” She shrugged her shoulders. 
“ You seem to be very angry with him, and I don’t 
understand why you should be. Don’t you realize 
that, with the exception of Parquet, who sings songs 
about ‘ Mi, mi, mi , ma Mimi — mi ’ at the Malgretout, 
and who has a fetite amie called Madeline already, 
no one has ever fallen in love with me. It isn’t a 
question which arises in the least.” She leaned on her 
elbows. A generation ago, I believe, people used 
to fall in love, and every girl had what were called 
‘ offers,’ but in these days such things are of the past. 
Aunt Laurie told me that men fell in love the way 
flies die in the autumn and I suppose it was true. 
If it was, we have outgrown it, and I am perfectly 
happy with Francis. I think it was hateful of you 
to call him old.” 


202 


Blindfold 

He is old ; he is an elderly gentleman of fifty,’’ 
Remi said, more deliberately than before. 

‘‘ He will never be old,” — she looked towards where 
the lights of Maurennes lay like a nest of fireflies in 
the hollow far below where they sat. Age has 
nothing to say to years. You are older than he 
is.” 

I deny it,” — he caught her hands again — “ I deny 
it flatly. You and I are young, our lives are before 
us, we haven’t spoilt them in any way. There is no 
deadly over-sophistication about us, and we could 
live in a way that your father can’t expect to live. 
He feeds on excitement, and couldn’t endure any life 
that didn’t include a Casino or a pack of cards. Don’t 
tell me that you call that life. He grabs you in, be- 
cause he can abstract a kind of freshness from you, 
but that is all. Did he ever make a sacrifice on your 
account, give up anything for you, put himself out 
an inch for your sake ? ” 

Kate thought instinctively of her faded wardrobe, 
and set her chin defiantly. Oh, it’s always the 
loaves and fishes with you,” she said. ‘‘ Francis stands 
above that ; he doesn’t think of money.” 

And I was not thinking of money either, but at 
least you might admit that he takes everything and 
gives nothing in return.” 

“ I don’t haggle.” She had not moved her hands, 
which lay very cold between his own. “It is really 
wonderful of him to care as much as he does. He 
said yesterday that he was so glad I wasn’t a boy; 
boys have to have schooling and professions, and a 
girl can just drift. He never pretends to be a reput- 
able father.” 

“ Exactly,” he said, and Kate felt suddenly that 
203 


Blindfold 

she had never listened to quite such a wonderful 
voice before. All the musical inflection of his coun- 
try sounded in it, and she forgot what he said because 
she realized that sometimes he mattered so very much 
to her. But all that was very different to love, be- 
cause when you love anyone you love them in the 
morning as well as in the sunset light, and to-morrow 
as much as you did yesterday. As well as that, there 
was Eugenie . . . 

I forget what you were saying,” she said, flush- 
ing in the dim light. ‘‘ My thoughts took themselves 
off suddenly. Monsieur de Limay.” 

“ Would you not call me Remi ? ” he asked. 

Haven’t we known each other long enough ? ” 

“ I will if you like,” she agreed. 

“ And I shall call you Kate ; it’s stupid to think 
of you as Kate and speak to you as Mademoiselle ; 
but your father will not be pleased.” 

“ He won’t mind,” — she shook her head. ‘‘ You 
make him out a kind of gorgon.” 

De Limay sat up. Every one recognizes an enemy,” 
he replied, it is a natural human instinct. For some 
reason or other, he hates me. I wouldn’t say all this 
only that you know it too, and it affects things a great 
deal.” 

You exaggerate,” she said, but without conviction. 

‘‘ I have been thinking of you for weeks without 
stopping,” he went on, and there are things I 
simply must say to you — not to-night, but before we 
leave Bergerac.” 

A slight chill touched Kate and she got up. She 
believed that she already knew what he was going to 
say. He would tell her about Eugenie, and, if de 
Vrie were right, he would offer her his love on those 
204 


Blindfold 

impossible terms which Georges regarded as so roman- 
tic and so touching. The very thought of it hardened 
her into stone. 

I don’t know what you can possibly have to say,” 
she said impatiently. ‘‘We met quite accidentally, 
and coincidence brought us both here. When we 
leave we may not meet again.” She got up as she 
spoke and began to walk down the steep path. 

The hundreds of miles of sky around her gleamed 
in the after-light of the dead sunset, and the waters 
lay like a sea of dreams under the sweeping ray from 
the lighthouse swinging across the bay. She knew that 
she loved Bergerac as men and women loved their 
homes. It would be desolatingly hard to leave it all 
behind and go back to the flat in the Rue du Chateau^ 
with the dust and noise of Paris, and the red satin 
walls which had once pleased her, because of their 
very difference to Clanmore. Remi had to be eter- 
nally part of her memory, caught into the great wide 
picture, with its space and dignity ; and the thought 
of the future, the train journeys east and west, the 
strained life which offered no depth of earth in which 
to grow, oppressed her soul. 

“ You think that ? ” he laughed. “ Well, I know 
better. You won’t be able to escape, however much 
you try.” 

“ Your world is not my world,” she said, and her 
voice sounded sad, coming back to him in the deepen- 
ing twilight. “ What is the use of pretending it is ? 
Francis and I belong to each other, and will to the 
end. We are perfectly happy together.” 

She hastened her pace, and Remi ran to keep up 
with her, catching her arm. 

“ You foolish little Kate,” he said, “ don’t you 
205 


Blindfold 

understand that I will never let you go ? ” and catch- 
ing her in his arms he kissed her. 

“ And now you have made me furious.^’ She dis- 
entangled herself fiercely. You take the meanest 
advantage and I could not have believed it of you.” 

‘‘ And why is it mean ? ” he asked. After all, it 
is hardly a crime for me to love you.” 

But she made no reply at all, and ran from him, 
while he stood watching the gleam of her white dress. 
He wondered if he had really given her desperate 
offence, and was angry with himself at the thought. 
Francis might quite easily have taken the trouble to 
put ideas into her mind that would make her mis- 
understand. Even so, it was easy to explain them 
away if Kate herself loved him. And she did love 
him, he would swear to that. For the first second 
when he caught her in his arms she had not been 
angry, her anger followed later. 

The fight was actually as between himself and 
Francis, between age and youth, and if only Kate 
cared, the final issue was assured in Remi’s favour, 
let Francis do or say what he might. 

As for the rest of the world, they did not matter, 
let them rage as they pleased. 

In the end, he found his way into the room of 
Georges de Vrie and waited for him to come in, 
which he did not long after midnight. 

Georges,” he said, his hands clasped behind his 
head and his eyes half closed, I wish that Francis 
Huntingdon was dead and in Hell, where he ought 
to be.” 

Ah — de Vrie put a pile of money on the dress- 
ing-table. I am so rich at this moment, Remi, that 
I am like a man who is drunk.” 

206 


Blindfold 

‘‘ And I have been making a fool of myself,” de 
Limay said slowly. 

You have not asked Mademoiselle to marry you ? ” 
De Vrie looked genuinely startled. 

‘‘ That is just it, I have not.” 

Ah well, then there is no great harm done. You 
see, mon cher, in my eyes marriage is a serious busi- 
ness, and love is exquisite ; they should remain apart. 
Mademoiselle is like lilacs in spring, and you are too 
honourable to destroy the sweet freshness. Francis, 
my greatest friend, is unfortunately impossible, from 
the point of view of the family, but for all that I 
feel distressed for you.” 

‘‘ And what ^ante Sophie, or Oncle Hercule, or the 
Due and the Baron think, must be what I think r 
Georges, you are a fool.” 

De Vrie lighted a cigarette and sat down. Then 
you are serious ? ” he asked. 

Damnably so.” 

“ And you will ask the permission of Francis ? ” 

I suppose I must say something about it to him.” 

“ And Eugenie ? ” 

I never agreed to anything.” 

De Vrie considered the subject carefully. “ Let 
me speak first to Francis,” he said, it is best so. 
He is a queer-tempered fellow, and I understand him. 
Let me be the ambassador, and it will be far better.” 

He hates the sight of me ? I thought so.” Remi 
stretched out his legs. ‘‘ I return the compliment.” 

Yet, regarded as a son-in-law, you may look a 
little better.” Georges laughed. ‘‘ I am pleased, 
Remi. I adore the little Mees, she is so brave, so 
loyal and so fragrant. I ought to ask your pardon, 
because I thought your ideas were otherwise — hein F ” 
207 


Blindfold 

He raised his eyebrows. Not that I blamed you, 
but how could I guess ? ” 

What will you say to that old rake ? ” Remi said 
shortly. After all, I’m not sure that I hadn’t better 
tackle it myself.” 

‘‘ No, no,” — Georges held up a protesting hand — 
“ you would speak English together, and French is 
the language of diplomacy. There are shades, there 
are nuances, and we do not want sharp words. Francis 
counts his daughter as his own, like his clothes or his 
boots. They might look better on a younger man, 
certainly, but that alters nothing. He might be glad 
to see her so well settled, only that he cares really 
for nothing except himself, though I admit it reluc- 
tantly, and he is farouche in a way. It would be as 
though you desired to steal his chief pride in life. 
I believe that even his realization of all it will mean 
to Mademoiselle would not soften him.” 

“ Then I leave it to you,” Remi said doubtfully ; 
‘‘ it may save a row between us. I see that.” He 
got up and walked to the door. “ Good night, 
Georges,” he said. I’m awfully glad you’ve been 
having luck.” 

“ And so am I, but I wish Francis could have 
shared it,” de Vrie said sorrowfully. 

“ Then he has been losing ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, disastrously, until the last couf. He did 
recover a little on that.” 

Once again Limay wished him good night, and went 
out, closing the door softly. 


208 


Chapter 1 7 

F rancis did not sleep particularly well. How- 
ever indifferent a man may be to the slings 
and arrows of outrageous fortune, he has to live, and 
to live one must pay. The very little he had won 
back was not sufficient to take him as far as Paris, 
leaving Kate out of the question, and his old way of 
commandeering, rather than borrowing, anything 
Georges had won, was not quite as simple as when they 
all lived together in Paris. 

Trianon had affected de Vrie; it had made him 
more what he once had been, and the gulf that 
Francis himself had widened busily, so that Kate 
should stand on the farther side alone with him, put 
Georges at a distance also. The entire situation had 
undergone an unexpected alteration, and when he 
had thought over the night’s play, and lay down on 
the white satin-wood bed which belonged to Tante 
Sophie, he felt intolerably wakeful, with the tense 
wakefulness of a man whose nerves are not under 
control. 

He had chosen deliberately to take up an attitude 
of hostility towards Remi, because Remi criticized him, 
and had done so from the first. Francis was not 
accustomed to a critical attitude, and resented it, 
though he hid his feelings, and did not admit the 
209 o 


Blindfold 


truth even to himself. Georges was his slave, Le- 
strange had been his dupe, Duphot and the others 
admired him, even if they distrusted him thoroughly. 

Kate — his eyes softened when he thought of her — 
loved him, and was the only living soul who did, or 
ever had. Dupes and slaves there had been, and he 
could make them still; enemies he had known, and 
de Limay testified to his power of creating them at 
a glance, but love was rare and precious. He was 
getting on in life, and had always disliked women 
with the cold disdain of opium smokers and most 
real gamblers. But Kate’s love demanded nothing; 
she was the truly blessed giver, and he looked into 
the darkness with a steady stare, as though he might 
find some words of fire written on the walls of the 
room. 

Remi was in love with the girl, and he had defeated 
him; even Georges admitted that much. He could 
hold her against de Limay’s attacks, and keep her 
until — he paused — until when ? — ^until he was too 
old to care, or until he was dead. After that, what 
would happen to Kate ? 

He answered the question comfortably. Robert 
Lewis had unearthed an old romance and married it, 
so he need not be regarded as a possible suitor for 
Laurie, and Laurie was a faithful soul. Kate could 
go back to Clanmore and inherit the house, marry 
one of the landowners in the neighbourhood, and 
settle things up with her own middle age. Such was 
the simplest explanation, and the one which was most 
likely to come to pass. Why worry ? 

Yet for all that, he did worry. There was the gap 
between to be accounted for. His mother, having 
realized what manner of man Francis was, had left 
210 


Blindfold 

him only a little money over which he had not any 
real power, as he could not forestall the quarterly 
dole by so much as a shilling. Every franc of it was 
spent, and the quarter was not half-way through, so 
that if he still continued to have such infernally bad 
luck at the tables, there was nothing to come in. 
He swore to himself and moved restlessly in his soft 
bed. The very softness of it and the fineness of the 
sheets, embroidered with ’Tante Sophie’s coronet, 
angered him. Duphot would not answer a letter 
asking for money on the already over-mortgaged 
shares he had in the Malgretout. Lestrange and he 
had quarrelled bitterly, and he couldn’t borrow from 
Elise as Georges had done. Besides, Georges had had 
the luck to be able to pay her with interest, sheer 
waste of money, nearly as silly as paying bills before 
you were threatened with legal proceedings. 

Formerly, Francis had been able to put such worries 
aside, but he admitted now that Kate complicated 
existence, even though she was worth it. He would 
have to borrow from Georges, that was the only thing 
he could do, and the annoying part of it was that 
de Vrie hadn’t really much to lend. That he would 
lend was a foregone conclusion. It was strange to 
feel so sickeningly reluctant to ask, and Francis began 
to wonder a little at himself. The truth was, that 
in playing his hand against Remi he had dressed up 
for the part and did not at all want to take off his 
trappings and put on the discarded habit once more. 
He wondered vaguely if he could be losing his nerve ? 

For a moment he looked back into the past, and 
saw it lie like a variegated picture behind him. He 
had come through some bad bits and faced difficulties 
which had only been conquered through sheer heart- 
2II 


Blindfold 

lessness and a kind of fundamental hardness he pos- 
sessed. With the coming of Kate, the Mademoiselle 
Printemfs of his first meeting, he certainly had not 
intended to alter himself on her account, nor had he. 
All their year in Paris had been the same as any other 
year, with the addition of his daughter to the group, 
and on the whole his friends had treated the girl 
well, except for Lestrange, who could hardly be 
expected to behave decently. 

Kate had not suffered, even if she had learnt a 
great deal about life of which she had been ignorant, 
and Georges had fussed about her like a clucking hen 
with one small chicken. 

Francis could trace no real change in himself until 
they had come to Maurennes, and even then, their 
life had gone on quietly until the arrival of Remi de 
Limay. He knew that when he had chosen to sit 
down deliberately to keep de Limay out he had been 
at a cross-roads, where, without thinking, he took 
an unknown path that was now leading him into 
unknown places. There was still so much choice left 
to him that he could go back. He could leave Kate 
to Remi, and, as he had originally intended, let her 
look after herself. He stopped dead in his thoughts — 
could he ? 

Had he not, in throwing himself into her life, 
gathered up something which was sweet and refresh- 
ing, and was he going to relinquish it all to this self- 
confident young man who held the handkerchief 
ready to throw, while the preparations for his legiti- 
mate love affair were being arranged in a notary’s 
office in Paris ? In his defence of her he felt angry, 
and yet even then, he was only thinking of himself. 

One evening’s run of real luck at the tables would 
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give him enough to take her away and keep them in 
Paris until the next quarter was due, or he could 
touch Duphot for a few hundred francs. He could 
even blackmail him, if it came to that, for he knew 
more than Duphot wished him to. The thought of 
blackmailing Duphot consoled him a little, and he 
yawned and stretched his arms over his head. Luck 
always did change, that was the one certain thing 
about it, but it was cursedly difficult to get to sleep, 
and the night seemed endless and airless, even though 
the windows were wide open and he could see the 
flowers on the stone terrace outside, colourless under 
the strong moonlight. 

Georges would have to hold the candle for a bit 
and hand over some of his winnings. Francis re- 
flected with satisfaction that he had a real instinct 
for slaves — even Kate had to come under the heading. 
She was ready to make any sacrifice for him, and in 
spite of his years, and in spite of the fact that Remi 
was a possible lover, and he nothing more romantic 
than a father, he had won the first trick. 

Still he did not sleep, and the night grew full of 
shadows of the past : his wife, whom he had almost 
forgotten, it all seemed so long ago ; Laurie who hated 
him, and yet who had been in some way in his power 
because he understood her so well ; days when he had 
ridden to hounds and cared for sport ; days when his 
mother had been ill just after he had left Harrow, 
and he nearly broke his heart because he feared she 
might die; and then when she had died, and he 
hadn’t cared one bit, but only been glad because she 
left him a settled income. He could dimly recall a 
time when he had been ambitious, and was working 
for the diplomatic service, which had necessitated 
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his being sent to Paris. That was where it all began. 
Paris, the city of his soul, even if it were a damned 
soul, the very name of her made old passions stir. 
All his life had been there, and he saw the outline 
of white houses and spires against the dawn beyond 
his windows. 

His father was still alive, relinquishing nothing of 
his tragic grip on the long years, and as fond of money 
as though he could take it with him. Francis hardly 
paused to think of him ; they had never liked one 
another. It was ages since he had thought like this, 
and there was a strangeness in it, like revisiting places 
almost forgotten, until gradually he began to see that 
his own place would soon be in the past. 

It was Kate, then, who really mattered. She had 
the future to inherit, and what heritage did it pro- 
mise her ? He dropped into a light sleep and forgot 
her, until he woke again with a start. It was still 
early, as he usually did not stir before ten or eleven, 
and there was a noise of something unusual in the 
house. Elise was weeping loudly, and Francis hated 
her for it. What did the woman mean by her noise ? 
He turned over and tried to sleep again, without 
success. Doors opened and shut ; some one in Georges 
de Vrie’s room was moving about, and he sat up and 
rang for his coffee. Evidently they did not intend 
to let him sleep. 

After a time he rang again, but no one answered, 
and he heard the sound of wheels on the gravel out- 
side the house. A sudden idea caught him and made 
him laugh. Perhaps Tante Sophie was arriving un- 
expectedly ; if so, it would account for the lamenta- 
tions of Elise, who might not have had the time to 
think of a good lie to explain the empty wine bottles. 

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He felt quite refreshed by the idea, and got up idly 
and lounged towards the window. The carriage with 
its gay orange cushions, green wheels and striped cur- 
tains, waited outside, and Hortense, flurried and 
driven as usual, hoisted up a portmanteau to the 
cocker^ who fastened it securely with a rope. 

Francis stared at the portmanteau in silent astonish- 
ment ; it belonged to Georges, and if so, this was a 
departure and not an arrival. He could make neither 
head nor tail of the mystery, and waited to see what 
was going to happen next. After a moment Elise 
came out, her apron to her eyes and her frilled cap 
on one side of her head. She was weeping with 
dreadful abandonment and uttering a name that 
seemed dimly familiar to Huntingdon. 

Poor, poor Madame Eulalie,” she repeated, so 
young, so beautiful,” and then again she burst into 
tears. 

‘‘Now who the devil is Madame Eulalie ? ” Fran- 
cis asked himself in great confusion of mind, when he 
saw Georges de Vrie come out from under the por- 
tico, and he too looked tearful and distracted. Elise 
kissed his hands, and he kissed her on both cheeks; 
they seemed to be swept by a paroxysm of mutual 
grief which was even enjoyable because of its fury. 
In a flash Francis recalled a broken memory. Eulalie 
was Georges de Vrie’s aged and vilely bad-tempered 
mother who lived outside LiUe. As he recalled the 
fact Georges got into the carriage and drove off down 
the road, while Elise went into a flt of unbridled 
hysterics. 

Francis withdrew from the window and sat down. 
He was still amused by the dramatic value that de 
Vrie and Elise had extracted from the situation, but 
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he wanted his coffee, so he rang impatiently. At 
length Hortense appeared with the tray. She was full 
of importance and excitement, and eagerly ready to 
tell Monsieur all that had happened since the tele- 
graph boy had arrived with a telegram for Monsieur 
Georges, saying that his Maman was dying, and she 
wanted to see her fetit before death closed her eyes. 

Monsieur Georges had nearly fainted. He cried 
like a child; it was heartbreaking the way in which 
he had called “ Maman, Maman,” and he had packed 
like a madman, while Hortense ran to order the 
carriage, and Elise did what she could to comfort 
him, but Elise too was stricken. Years ago she had 
been lady’s-maid to the mother of Monsieur Georges, 
and she felt as though the world had come to an end. 
Hortense, who knew none of the principal actors in 
the tragedy except Monsieur Georges, wept herself 
as she told the story. 

Elise said that Monsieur Georges was just from 
the Lycee when she used to brush Madame’s hair and 
button on her boots for her, and that he was mignon 
comme tout^ a flower, a rose-bud, and so gay.” 

‘‘ Then she was weeping for her lost romance,” 
Francis said, pouring out his coffee. ‘‘Not for a 
disagreeable old woman who has been very unkind 
to her only son, and who ought to have been dead 
ten years ago, and warming her feet in the devil’s 
kitchen.” 

“ She said Monsieur Georges was mignon — Hortense 
sniffled and wiped her eye — “ and she has gone to 
bed, so that I have to do everything to-day. Ah, it 
is I who really do all the work of this house. Monsieur, 
though I get no credit for it.” 

“ Credit is difficult to get, and even harder to 
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keep,” Francis replied tersely. If you are so busy, 
Hortense, I must not waste your time any longer.” 

She went away still weeping like a playgoer who 
understands the true enjoyment of a good cry. 

Francis drank his coffee and lighted a cigarette. 
With the house upset, the bath water would still be 
cold, so there was no special need to hurry. He 
thought of Georges, with his lined face, and his look 
of a good-natured viveur^ being compared to rose- 
buds, and the gnarled and violent-tempered old 
aristocrat causing so much lamentation, because, at 
an advanced age, she was actually dying at last. 
Georges was well over forty, and still he was able to 
become positively childish. He wondered whether 
Madame la Comtesse would leave him anything — she 
was reputed to be very rich. 

At that, his thoughts came to a sudden standstill, 
as though he had run against an iceberg. Georges 
had gone, and until that moment it never occurred 
to him what it really meant. 

Before he slept, he had made up his mind to borrow 
from de Vrie if he had another night’s run of bad 
luck : he was quite the easiest person on earth to 
borrow from. Now, de Vrie had gone, and in going 
took all possibility of such a solution along with him. 
He got up and began to pace the room restlessly, 
all his good humour forsaking him. Could he write 
to Georges ? But could he, when the man’s mother 
was dying ? If it had been his father he might have, 
but to send a begging letter to a Frenchman when 
he was at his mother’s death-bed was out of the 
question. Georges might reply, but he would never 
forget or forgive Francis. 

For months, even for a year or two, Georges would 
217 


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be reformed, wear black clothes, and go to Mass every 
Sunday, to confession every month. He might marry 
and settle down — Madame de Vrie was crafty enough 
to make it a dying request, and Georges would never 
refuse. 

Francis kicked away a footstool which impeded his 
path. When he saw Georges get into the orange 
and green carriage and go off amid the wailing of 
Elise and the cracking of the cocher^s whip, he had 
virtually set eyes on him for the last time. 

Georges he might see again, but never the old 
gay companion who had been his best friend. Even 
Trianon, with its suggestion of security, had changed 
him a little, and the rest would be easily arrived 
at. You cannot be a vagabond with a balance at 
the bank ; the thing is impossible. 

For a moment it saddened Francis and carried him 
beyond the point of sheer personal annoyance in 
realizing that he had let his chance sHp. They had 
not even said good-bye. But that was how things 
went in this world, and possibly it was best so ; still 
it was oddly lonely to think of Paris and the old haunts 
without de Vrie, and he was getting old to collect 
new friends who would give him anything like the 
same loyalty. He thought of how only the night 
before he had congratulated himself on his own power 
over Georges, and now a dark-visaged, wrinkled old 
woman had beaten him, and he might as well throw 
down the cards at once. 

The sea lay shining away to the horizon, and the 
fresh air touched his face. Little fishing-boats with 
sails like blue and brown butterflies were setting out, 
and somehow he thought of Kate. She was his, 
and the blue morning reminded him of her, with its 
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golden sunlight. De Vrie had gone, and left him 
in a cursed hole, but Kate remained. He gripped 
his hands with an instinctive gesture ; he had no inten- 
tion of letting her get into any orange and green car- 
riage and drive off either to a funeral or a wedding. 

He rang again and demanded hot water. 

‘‘ Even if people die, one must shave,” he said, 

you will see the point of that argument, Hortense.” 

And so little did she like the look in his eyes, that 
she fled desolately to do his bidding. 

Monsieur de Limay shaved in cold,” she remarked. 

He has gone out ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, Monsieur, he and Ma’m’selle, hours ago.” 

Francis looked at his reflection in the glass. 

“ ‘ The years that burn and break ’ are getting a 
'bit of their own back,” he remarked to himself. 

Georges will be in Paris before I get there.” 

The room had darkened almost imperceptibly, 
for there was a heavy line of cloud gathering on the 
bright horizon. 


219 


Chapter 1 8 

W HEN Hortense had told Francis Huntingdon 
that Kate and Remi de Limay had gone out 
together, she only said what she felt should have 
been the case, rather than what was actually the 
fact. 

Kate had got up early and escaped into the blue 
morning because she had a great deal to think about, 
and always preferred to do her thinking outside 
four walls. With her usual honesty she desired to 
find out from herself exactly what she felt, and not 
merely to throw a shawl over her emotions, and hurry 
on, without having dared to face them. Remi’s 
kiss, and the words he had said, burned in her memory 
and in her heart, and she went over the moment 
again and again with a trembling tenderness. She 
knew now that she did care for Remi de Limay, not, 
she felt, as the girls of Aunt Laurie’s generation had 
cared, because they expected to be made love to, 
but as you could only care if you belong to the new 
era. With the complete assurance of the young, 
she was positive that no one had ever loved, as she 
loved Remi. 

The question she set out to ask herself was, what 
did she intend to do about it ? She had told him 
that she was angry, because for a moment she was 
220 


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angry, but that was all past now, and she had come 
to the point of revelation. But even though this was 
so, it did not clear her future. She left the coast-line 
and went towards the pinewoods, taking a tangled 
path into the deep fragrant shadows. She had sworn 
to come to terms with herself before she met Remi 
again. 

As a starting-point, she admitted to herself that 
she loved Remi de Limay, and a touch of youthful 
vanity buoyed her up, because though she admitted 
it to herself, she had not decided whether she would 
ever admit it to him. According to her father and 
Georges de Vrie, de Limay’s love-making was like 
the forbidden fruit — something to be avoided if 
you wished to remain in the garden of flowers. He 
was engaged, so far as she knew, and there were serried 
ranks of stern relations who ranged themselves behind 
Eugenie de Saint Roque. Kate ran on through a 
green glade and held out her arms to the sunlight. 
The sting of death had been taken from the name of 
Eugenie, who seemed to matter very little in that 
hour of morning glory. She loved Remi and he loved 
her; it was a profound secret, and no one was ever 
to know. 

She walked on, following the track through a dark 
valley of ilex trees and stunted oaks, and tried to 
think more seriously, but it was not altogether easy. 
The renunciation that lay ahead could not shadow 
her in her present mood, and it was some time before 
she really concentrated her mind on the thought 
of Francis, and when she did, she walked more slowly 
and her arms dropped to her sides. 

It was all very well to let herself go, when there 
was no one anywhere near her, to an hour of harmless 
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vertige^ but she was out to face realities, and gradually 
she drew her mind back to the future. Remi could 
never marry her, every one said so, and she reasoned 
it out steadily on her own account. It would be 
open to her to accept his love on the terms that 
would have been possible if she were different herself, 
but she knew that she could not. 

She sat down for a little by a myrtle bush, and 
reviewed the situation. Her position with Francis 
was equivocal enough in all conscience. She moved 
in no sort of society, and no one had any standards 
which, if she established herself with Remi, would 
be defied or scandalized. There was no one to shock, 
to put it concisely. There was no public opinion. 
Francis himself could hardly say very much against 
it, and yet all that made no real difference. She 
sighed and got up again, making her way onwards. 
There was no earthly use in pretending that she 
could even contemplate such a bargain with Fate. 

It meant, certainly, that she would have to give 
Remi up, because there was no use imagining that 
they could go on indefinitely playing with fire and 
not burn their fingers and, eventually, their boats. 
It would be a wretched muddled affair of deceit 
and perpetually lessening prestige, for even if she 
had not to lie, because her own world was sufficiently 
indifferent to take it all for granted as a natural 
occurrence, Remi owed something better to himself. 
It was not her fault, she felt, that things were as they 
were, and her face grew set and stoical as she pushed 
through the thickening undergrowth. 

But it was not easy. Her happiness feU away from 
her, she began to think of Francis, and the thought 
sustained her. Unlike most fathers, in that he gave 
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her very little else, he did give her romance. She 
thought of him with a queer little pain at her heart. 
He needed her. He had Georges, of course, and 
other friends, but he was a different person with them, 
and to her only he appeared all but perfection. With 
him she could go on, suffering less than she otherwise 
must have done. Francis lightened the darkness of 
the way, and would never know that she loved Remi. 
He would never know either, that probably if she 
had stayed with Laura in Paris, and had the advantages 
of a respectable background, Eugenie might have 
suffered defeat. But the Hotel Normandie,” and 
Uncle Bryan’s delightful house, were a far cry from 
the Rue du Chateau. 

Francis could give her romance, but no social 
status, and it was ridiculous to compare the rewards. 
They belonged to each other, and Kate had to pay. 
She saw that, and recognized the truth without 
flinching. Vagabonds they were, and vagabonds 
they would remain. There was no use looking for- 
ward, for they never made any plans, and at least 
there was the distraction of endless variety. 

Their position at Trianon was merely an instance 
of the volcanic methods they were bound to. Francis 
might leave Bergerac with money in his pocket, but 
he might depart in a glorious condition of entire 
beggary. Any day, any hour, the surface of their 
life might break up, and they would be swept onwards 
by the storm. She looked up at the plumes of the 
dark fir-trees over her head, and realized that the 
morning was darkening, as though in accompaniment 
to her own thoughts. 

After all, one always came back to Francis. Remi 
did not really love her enough, or he would fling 
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everything aside for her. It was rather a cruel thought 
and hurt Kate horribly, but she accepted it with a 
long, sobbing breath. Then she, for her part, would 
not give in to him. She would stand by Francis, 
first of all because she loved him, and also because 
she would never accept less than everything from 
any man. 

Not that Francis gave her everything. He was 
a good gambler, and his past life had no connexion 
with her, the baby he had left to Aunt Laurie in 
the old house at Clanmore. But since she had come 
to him that day in Paris, he had grown to care for her 
almost in spite of himself. A feeling of pity for him 
swept her with real pain. He was hard with the 
others, in his dominating way, but to her he was 
gentle, and she thought of how he had admitted that 
she meant so much in his life. Words he had said 
to her came back into her mind : “ Life is rather 
like a prison, my girl, only that we make our own 
cells, and every prisoner in fiction has a green tree 
outside that he watches and loves. You are my green 
tree.” 

She pressed her hands hard against her heart, and 
vowed once more that she would never fail him. 

Remi must go. He need never guess that she 
had given him so much of her heart, and anyhow, 
nothing had been spoilt. She could keep him in her 
memory. And then, too, she had only de Vrie’s 
word and her father’s for her belief that he wanted 
to spoil things. Perhaps he did not. Perhaps he 
too had climbed up to the hills, and would, for the 
sake of honour, ‘‘ renounce where it was necessary, 
and not ^become embittered,” which was the test of 
‘‘ all a man’s fortitude and delicacy.” 

224 


Blindfold 

The shadows were growing very dark as she reached 
the outskirts of the wood, and Kate left the thick 
undergrowth and came to a stretch of rock that was 
bare of everything except a small grey stone church, 
built like a child’s toy, that commanded the empty 
sea. Down over the coast-line of Medoc a heavy cloud 
was spreading landwards, and the blue overhead had 
paled and faded, in a scared uncomfortable way. 
Far off a sound like the slow, distant firing of guns 
boomed dully, and though there was no wind the waves 
began to rise into great arcs, thundering into the 
rocks below where she stood. The whole world seemed 
entirely empty, and she might have been the last 
creature living, watching the approach of the day 
of doom, which hurried towards her ominously. 

She pulled her emerald-green beret well down over 
her hair, and watched a flicker of lightning, evil and 
sudden, play across the massed clouds, like an angry 
sneer. Her thin blouse fluttered a little in a sudden 
gust of wind, which blew her skirt round her bare 
legs, for she had only put on white sand-shoes in her 
hurry to get out. 

A storm was coming, and she watched it, waiting 
for it to break. The sea, usually so gentle and caressing, 
boomed and crashed upon the rocks, and the thunder 
sounded closer. Kate had heard of the violence of 
the summer storms which burst over the coast, and 
she did not dare to go back to the wood for shelter ; 
so, following the sandy track, she went up to the 
church door and pushed it open. 

It was very cold inside, and rows of rush-seated 
chairs stood with the solitary effect of bored and 
disconsolate mutes, in uneven rows. The Stations 
of the Cross were hung along the white plaster walls, 
225 p 


Blindfold 


and a red lamp gleamed dully before the altar. Sprays 
of artificial flowers made out of coloured tin stood 
in china vases, and on brackets one or two figures of 
saints adorn the walls. In the very centre of the 
little edifice a gilt ship with all its sails set hung by 
a silver chain, and swayed a little, as though the great 
waves outside sent some responsive thrill through it. 

The door behind her closed with a loud bang, and 
a wind sprang up, but not like any wind Kate had 
ever known. There was music in it, wild tempestuous 
music that ran screaming upwards and then down 
the scale again; the windows rattled and shook, 
beaten upon by flying sand. Overhead the thunder 
clashed and echoed, and the roar of the sea intensified 
in its fury. 

Kate looked around her, for now the interior of 
the church was quite dark, and one little candle 
burned before a rather battered-looking saint, who 
had a kindly face, upon which the flickering light played 
like a real smile. She remembered the Catholic 
Church at Clanmore, and how it had attracted her, 
and how she had been brought up to regard its worship 
as pagan and childish, and going along the aisle, 
she looked more closely at the saint, before whom 
some vanished worshipper had lighted a candle. 
There were a few other long white tapers in a little 
box at the side, marked at a few sous^ and Kate slipped 
the money into the box and added her own gleam of 
light to the darkness. 

Under the plaster figure in its brown habit was 
written : Saint Jean, protector of the dying, pray 
for us.” 

She knelt down on one of the rush-seated chairs 
and watched the pointed flame, while all around her 
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Blindfold 

the crashing of the storm continued in unceasing 
violence. 

The sand blown up by the wind had entirely veiled 
the small windows, and the singing of the tempest 
shrilled and moaned with its shuddering incessant cry. 
Again the candles flickered and gave to Saint Jean 
the effect of a smile, and Kate clasped her hands 
though she did not pray. Saint Jean protected the 
dying, not the living, and she was alive, and yet she 
had chosen him for her votive taper. The living, 
surely, needed more protection, but that one could 
hardly tell, because death was so far away when one 
was only twenty. Perhaps people who died very 
suddenly needed a saint all to themselves, if there 
hadn’t been time to think much about it all. Life 
took up the foreground and urged its necessities upon 
the heart, so that death, even though it was inevitable, 
must be forgotten and hidden out of sight. 

A furious crash broke over the church, shaking 
it to its foundations, and instinctively Kate clasped 
her hands tighter. The gilt ship was an offering 
from the sailors, who might be praying to Saint Jean 
out in such a storm. Saint Jean would have to 
protect them all some day or other, because every 
one living needed him sooner or later — she herself, 
Remi, and Francis, though Francis would be a prob- 
lem for any saint, however holy. 

In spite of the storm, a sense of peace stole over 
her. In the dark little church, with its red lamp 
which watched all the time, just as the lighthouses 
watched by night, a spirit brooded that was infinitely 
above the waves of this troublesome world. Then, 
was this the real answer to all riddles, the eternal 
explanation that most people missed ? Francis in 
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the Casino, Kate herself on the rocks at twilight 
with Remi beside her, and Georges, who seemed at 
times to understand something of the mystery, 
were they all pilgrims towards a goal where Saint 
Jean offered them his protection ? 

Saint Jean, Protector of the dying, pray for us,” 
she said rather shamefacedly to herself, and this time 
she offered the words up like a prayer. 

The storm was lessening a little, and the thunder 
rolling away towards the coast again. Flashes of 
lightning came less violently, and the wind sank 
suddenly into silence. 

Kate got up from her knees, and looked again at 
her candle. She was glad to think she had lighted 
it, because if Saint Jean liked candles, he might accept 
her tribute for the sake of some one who had no friends 
to make an offering. Some one, she hoped, half- 
wistfully, who was dying because he had chosen that 
way out. It was a sin, but then sinners were often 
so much more humanly attractive than saints. On 
the far side of the church, where the windows were 
not blinded by sand, she saw a streak of pale blue 
sky. The weather was taking heart of grace again, 
and she walked to the door and opened it. 

Anyhow, she had succeeded in what she intended 
to do, her mind was perfectly clear, and if Remi 
tried again to catch her into the deceitful magic of 
the evening, she knew that she was strong enough 
to come out of the battle a conqueror. Conquerors 
must now and then have sad hearts, but they are none 
the less victorious for all that. 

It took far less time to get back, as Kate followed 
the road by the cliff, and just as she reached the 
brow of the hill, she met Francis coming towards her. 

228 


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Kate, you little devil, you’ve scared the life out 
of me,” he said anxiously. De Limay has gone 
out to the vroods, and I have been all along the rocks. 
What made you do it, child ? ” 

I was caught in the storm,” she said, smiling up 
at him. 

You aren’t wet.” He put his hand on her arm* 
I sheltered,” she said, and talked of something 
else at once, for nothing would have induced her to 
say where she had been. She felt that Francis would 
not be in any sort of sympathy with Saint Jean, 
Protector of the dying. 


229 


Chapter 1 9 

A rmed and equipped for the encounter with 
Remi, Kate prepared herself for the evening 
by avoiding him during the day. Francis was a man 
of habit, if only in one respect, and started for the 
Casino at half-past nine every evening, so that she 
concluded he would go off as usual the night of the 
thunderstorm. 

As they dined together, the absence of Georges 
was sorely felt by all three. Until he was no longer 
there, none of them had realized how far his tact and 
kindness had made the situation smooth and even 
pleasant. Now that he was not there, the wheels 
of the conversational chariot bumped sorely, and 
frequently nearly upset the passengers into angry 
pitfalls. 

Kate was holding up her inward decision like a shield, 
between her and Remi, who, though he could not tell 
that it was formed of pure gold, was uncomfortably 
aware that she had got herself away from him, and 
that she was able to meet his eyes with a steadiness, 
admirable and very beautiful, but chilly as March 
snow. He would far rather have seen her a little 
angry, or a little self-conscious. Her Diana-like 
command of herself frightened him thoroughly, and 
he avoided looking at her after his first ineffectual 
230 


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appeal. He began to think that she was like a dryad, 
who by the magic of her temperament escaped from 
the foolish snares of earth loves ; and the more he 
thought of it, the less he liked the simile. It made 
him distrait^ and abrupt in manner, and even at the 
best of times he was not an easy conversationalist. 

Francis sat opposite to him, and if their diner d 
trots had taken place in the Middle Ages, Remi could 
have believed that Huntingdon was possessed by a 
mocking devil. The departure of Georges, and the 
alarm he had felt during two hours, when Kate was 
missing in the storm, and Elise rose from her bed of 
grief to prophesy that the girl had been swept out 
to sea and drowned, awakened all his worst feelings, 
as a kind of revenge against recent suffering. He 
had dressed for dinner and his dark, thin face and 
deep-set eyes were full of a subtle mirth. With 
easy, and Remi felt, perfectly damnable insolence, 
he began to make sport for himself out of the depar- 
ture of Georges de Vrie, and the nature of his mission. 

“ You may as well admit, de Limay, that if the 
English are hypocrites, the French are hopeless 
sentimentalists,” he said carelessly. A nation of 
charming children, stamping their feet one minute 
and laughing the next. You have only to wave a 
tricolour and shout d has les aristocrates one day, and 
go out and wave the royal standard and yell for the 
Monarchy the day after, and they run and cheer.” 

Is it altogether French ? ” Remi asked. 

Poor Georges,” Francis continued, “ I wish you 
could have watched the little comedy. He and Elise 
embracing in tears, and Georges quite convinced 
that his heart is broken.” 

Very funny,” de Limay commented dryly. 

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I am sure that Georges really is miserable,” Kate 
broke in. She was sorry that Francis was in this mood, 
but she knew it of old. He had used it on Lestrange, 
to prove how stupid the English were, and danced and 
prodded him like an agile toreador, while Lestrange 
bellowed like a whole herd of John Bulls. Sometimes 
it amused Francis in his perverse way to madden 
people, and she saw that he intended to do so to-night. 
She glanced at the clock. If he were going to the 
Casino, he should be starting very soon, but Elise 
came to tell them that coffee was served on a table 
in the garden, and Francis made no sign of departure. 

For a second, Kate was unreasonably angry. To 
have put on the whole armour of righteousness, and 
then to find that there wasn’t the outside chance of 
testing its strength, was enough to aggravate anyone, 
and she met Remi’s eyes with a slightly less impersonal 
glance as they sat down under the cedar tree. 

Aren’t you going to the Casino, Francis ? ” she 
asked. 

Not to-night.” He stirred his coffee and lighted 
a cigarette. “ Elise appears to have recovered,” 
he went on, she unearthed an early romance between 
herself and Georges, one of his first essays, I take it. 
He was fresh from the Lycee, and she his mother’s 
maid at the time. One thing I do envy you French 
fellows for is your permanent capacity for sensation. 
How do you do it ? ” 

I don’t, personally.” Remi opened his cigarette- 
case and held it out to Kate. “ No, don’t take that 
one, it’s a Maryland^ the others are better.” 

Huntingdon leaned back and looked luxuriously 
up at the stars. “ You are all artists,” he said, “ artists. 
I envy you your facility, though I confess to having 
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been abominably bored by the conversations you are 
able to continue so endlessly on the subject of les 
femmes,^’^ 

Georges will miss the Casino,” Kate said uncom- 
fortably. Really, Francis was behaving too badly. 

Not he,” her father laughed, “ he will be enjoying 
the drama of a death-bed scene, the cure will scare 
the wits out of him, if he knows his job, and Georges 
will be telling his beads, with the perspiration dripping 
down his back. As for the old lady, she will fire her 
last cartridge and get de Vrie full in the thing he calls 
his heart. Poor old Georges.” 

“ Is he so much to be pitied ? ” Remi asked. He 
was nettled by the provocation Huntingdon kept on 
offering to him, but vowed inwardly not to lose his 
temper. 

I don’t know that he is,” Francis agreed amiably ; 

I was thinking more of the complex question of 
nationalities. When Duphot’s wife had a son, I 
happened to be the first man he met, and he kissed 
me on both cheeks. Whenever I feel down on my 
luck, I think of fat old Duphot with his black beard, 
though I don’t suppose he ever kissed anyone who 
liked it less.” He went on talking with the same veiled 
animosity. Gad, you are an amusing crowd, and 
I wish we had half your brains and wit, but there 
is a shade too much emotion about it all, it becomes 
exhausting.” 

Have some more coffee ? ” Remi took Kate’s 
cup. For her sake he had to forego the pleasure of 
speaking his mind to Francis. “ You were saying 
that you found us exhausting ? Isn’t the answer 
really another question : Why do you live in France ? ” 

Because I adore Paris.” Francis was perfectly 

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sincere as he spoke. He seemed to have brushed de 
Limay aside and to be looking out over the miles of 
distance to the home of his heart. I love Paris in 
the way in which some men love ships or women. 
It is hardly possible to explain it — something that 
runs in the blood.” 

Remi felt slightly mollified, and talked for a little, 
while Francis sat silently in the shadows. Kate 
hoped that his bad mood had passed, and breathed 
more freely. To sit and lightly insult his host was 
dreadful in Francis. She was less pleased with him 
than usual, and laying down her shield and spear, she 
watched de Limay, who sat in the clear moonlight. 
He was talking about his own house with a touch of 
enthusiasm, it had a history which was bound in with 
the history of France of the majestic days, and he 
told it very simply. 

‘‘ It must be very inspiring indeed,” Francis said 
when he had finished, and from his voice, Kate could 
not tell whether or not he was once more on the 
war-path, ‘‘ but it takes living up to, I imagine.” 

I didn’t in the least mean to suggest such an 
idea,” Remi said quickly. He had half forgotten 
Francis as he had talked, and addressed his conversa- 
tion to Kate. ‘‘ It was only a forgotten paragraph 
of history, or less than that.” 

‘‘ I like it,” Francis spoke lazily. It calls up a 
picture of torn banners, houses like museums, marriages 
like royal alliances, and all the 'panache of a faded 
aristocracy, fighting the fat, encroaching army of 
good bourgeois. I feel that the Republic is respon- 
sible for the shape of most of the citizens of Mau- 
rennes. It is hard to forgive,” he yawned. One 
might work up some enthusiasm for peasants, they 

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are more picturesque, but when France became a 
Republic, it was the end of outline, or so it seems 
to a mere observer.” 

Remi laughed in spite of himself. “You may 
say what you like about the Republic,” he said, “ I 
shall not want to contradict you.” 

“ Are you any the better ? ” Francis was still 
soft of voice. “ There was a dreadful fellow I once 
knew who called your sort of thing ‘ poppy-cock,’ 
I don’t know where he got the word. I suppose it 
is the blundering English again, equivalent for 'panache, 
and even so, French romance ends with music and 
kisses. What I honestly admire is your solid business 
capacity. Elise there ” — he waved his cigarette towards 
the white house — “ lent her old love, Georges, two 
thousand francs, but not with the delightful abandon 
one might have expected. She asked for a good solid 
interest, and got it too.” 

Remi got up and took Kate’s empty cup. “ Aren’t 
you tired ? ” he asked her, “ you ought to be, after 
your walk, and the storm.” 

Kate shook her head. If Remi thought that 
she was going to run away, just because Francis 
was making her dreadfully ashamed of him for a minute 
or two, he was quite wrong, and she replied in a 
stiff little voice that she would remain where she 
was. 

“ In England,” Francis said, lighting a fresh cigar- 
ette, “ people, dull as they are, still believe that 
there are some things that should not be bought. 
Quite possibly there are exceptions, but generally 
speaking, we don’t sell our daughters.” 

The deliberate rudeness of his last remark was 
more than Remi could endure patiently. “ I am 
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glad to know it,” he said. I have not had much 
opportunity of studying your attitude, and what 
I have had is not very reassuring.” 

‘‘ Ah, well,” Francis got up and stretched his 
arms, “ one lives and learns. When you are my 
age, you will be wiser than you are now. Come, 
Kate, as you aren’t tired, we will take a turn along 
the cliff.” 

She got up and went with him, her arm through 
his and her chin well up. The whole armour of 
righteousness hadn’t been forged for this kind of 
battle, and did not seem to be of much real use. 
Her main feeling was that she must not appear to 
let Francis down by so much as looking towards 
Remi de Limay. A look might be interpreted by him 
as an apology, and no one must apologize for Francis. 

He patted her hand as if he understood some- 
thing of what was passing in her mind, and they 
walked up the path together, past the palms and the 
ilex trees, and on to the sandy point at the top of 
the cliffs. 

“ Kate, I hate that fellow,” he said when they 
had reached the summit of the ascent. “ They 
say that all men hate their heirs. Is that true ? ” 

“ How could it be true ? ” — she pressed her head 
against his arm~“ only I do wish that you hadn’t 
irritated him so much. He is our host.” 

“ He is not. Do you suppose he would ever have 
asked us here ? ” 

“ But he is,” she insisted. 

Georges invited us, and here we have to stay 
until I get a run of luck” — he spoke impatiently — 
‘‘ and no ‘ mince about it,’ as he himself would say. 
As for de Limay,” — ^he stood before her as she sat 
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down on a rough wooden bench — “ I have a growing 
belief that you like him, you always champion 
him.” 

‘‘ Do you think that I am the type of girl who 
is content to play second fiddle ? ” she asked. You 
must know your daughter a little better than that, 
Francis.” 

‘‘ Let me remind you that the human heart is 
very deceitful,” he replied, and sat down beside 
her. He sticks in my throat. I behave badly, 
don’t I, Kate, and am no credit to you. It can’t 
last much longer in any case, which is one consola- 
tion.” 

To Kate his words were not quite so consoling as 
he seemed to think they should be, and after a silence 
she asked when they were going back to Paris. 

“ In two or three days’ time, either in luxury 
or even on foot. I’ve often thought of slinging 
a few rugs over my shoulder and wearing a tarhush^ 
like those inexplicable hawkers who lurk about Paris. 
I’ve seen them at Maurennes and even here in Ber- 
gerac, they never sell any rugs, so far as I know, they 
just lounge through life, and it must pay, or there 
wouldn’t be so many of them. Does that appeal 
to you, Kate ? ” 

‘‘ Francis, do be serious,” she said emphatically. 

It seems to me that after what happened to-night 
we cannot go on staying at Trianon. You chose 
to make war on Monsieur de Limay, and to stay 
on in his house and make use of him is so bad, some- 
how. The kind of thing one doesn’t do.” 

‘‘ It is the kind of thing I often do,” her father 
replied indifferently. ‘‘ Get that into your head. 
If he doesn’t like me, he can go. As a matter of 

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fact he ought to go on to Medoc and look after his 
vineyards. Why doesn’t he ? ” 

Kate said nothing. 

‘‘ I thought you wouldn’t tell me,” he laughed. 
“You are becoming secretive, ma cherie. Oh, Kate ” — 
he grew suddenly serious — “ don’t let yourself care 
for de Limay. The very idea of it makes me restless. 
A Frenchman ought to be a Frenchman, just as 
Georges is, and de Limay is not. He has a grim, 
puritanical streak in him, so that he has all the vice 
of two temperaments, without their virtues.” 

“ Don’t worry about me,” she said quietly. 

“ Things come back over one ” — he propped his 
chin on his hands — “ and I wish I could give you all 
you lost when you left Laurie. There are times 
when I feel like sending you back to her.” 

“ I should not go.” 

“ And I don’t want you to, but it would be best 
if you did. One has to admit that the old ideas are 
best. The regularity of life, a sense of its reality, 
a respect for the decencies. When you have lost 
them, it isn’t easy — I don’t even think it’s possible — 
to find them again.” 

“ You said that Georges would,” she suggested. 

“ Georges kept his illusions, and he never grew 
hard. He was sophisticated, but not cynical, and 
he loved babies. For instance, he wouldn’t have 
left you at Clanmore and cleared off.” 

“ No, I don’t think he would.” 

“ He can confess his sins and get rid of them,” 
Francis went on, “ really get rid of them, I mean : 
whereas I couldn’t even begin to do anything of the 
kind. He drifted into the life we lead, and I fought 
my way out to get there.” 

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Kate said nothing, and the soft whisper of the 
sea filled all the silence. It was perfectly true what 
Francis said, that life needed rails, the wild wastes 
were frightening at times. Human nature demanded 
definitions ; a clear dividing line between what one 
might and what one might not do. It was no use 
pretending that right and wrong were questions of 
individual choice, they were not. Again the words 
came back to her, To renounce where it shall be 
necessary and not to become embittered, that is the 
test of all a man’s fortitude and delicacy.” To 
grab and snatch and assert one’s claims was not the 
way by which to come to peace of heart. One must 
go back and search for simple faith again. How could 
Francis be expected to do this ? He simply could 
not, and she felt as though already she was passing 
away from the freshness of her own youth. 

‘‘ I suppose things will work out,” she said, striving 
to throw off her feeling of distress. 

‘‘ Why not ? ” He got up. “ Come on, Kate, the 
moonlight is not a good light for the likes of us. We 
belong to civilization and require electricity to be 
at our best. It is ridiculous to think, unless it is 
likely to do any good, and all the thinking you and 
I can do won’t produce notes from the Banque de 
France,^"^ 

She got up and they walked towards the road 
lying white below them, round the curve. The 
sky was still very clear, a fervenche blue, and shadowy 
figures were grouped on the sands, talking and laughing 
together. 

For the first time in her life, Kate was really unhappy, 
with the unhappiness which does not belong to the 
young. Hope would come back to her with the dawn 

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and her sudden misery of mind would not last, but 
at the moment it was heavy and dark over her. 

“ Are you ever afraid of the future, Francis ? ” she 
asked. 

“ I don’t know that I am. I don’t often think 
about it.” 

A picture of the flickering taper, and the face of 
Saint Jean came clearly to her mind, and she longed 
to ask her father if he was afraid of death. She looked 
up at him, and then she knew, without asking, that 
he was not. He would regard it as a final gamble, 
and look at the veiled face with his queer indiffer- 
ence. Whatever else he was, Francis was not a 
coward. Then she began to think of the imme- 
diate future, and wondered if Remi would still be 
up when they got back. It would be some con- 
solation to say a decent good night to him. But 
when they reached Trianon the house was dark 
and silent and there was no sign anywhere of Remi 
de Limay. 

“ You’ll stick to me,” Francis said, as he wished 
her good night. “ Good, Kate.” 

I will, because I want to,” she said, because 
I like our life together.” 

He watched her go up the staircase and smiled. 


240 


Chapter 2 o 

I N the morning Kate heard that Remi had gone 
to Medoc, and as Francis did not appear she took 
a book and sat in her usual place under the ilex trees. 

De Limay had taken the motor-boat, and neither 
Elise nor Hortense knew when he was going to return. 
It hurt Kate’s pride to feel that he had been driven 
out of his own house merely because Francis would 
not behave decently, and she sat reading a book 
of miscellaneous poems that only further distracted 
her and upset her. 

In poems, people wrote of love, and the last thing 
Kate wanted at that moment was any intensification 
of her own stifled feelings, but the only alternative 
which offered itself to her was a row of elderly French 
novels, collected by T ante Sophie, and Kate discarded 
them with scorn. 

After dejeuner^ at which Francis appeared, the day 
spread itself out interminably long before her, and her 
father also felt the tedium of the hot hours behind 
the closed volets^ for he paced the drawing-room in 
the dim light, his reflection thrown back in a ghostly 
fashion by the mirrors on the walls. 

“ I have a good mind,” he said, “ to try my luck 
this afternoon, Kate, and a new departure has some- 
thing to be said for it.” 


241 


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Blindfold 

She was sitting in a deep chair, her open book on 
her knee, and looked up at him. He was in a fever 
of impatience, and she could tell that he was madly 
anxious to get off. 

It might be a good thing,” she agreed. But 
will they be playing ? ” 

Collet says that he has to be there, and he is 
bored stiff. It doesn’t matter what the others do 
in the least, that is one blessing ” — he turned away 
again. ‘‘ It is an idea, and appeals to me.” 

She knew that he wanted her to tell him to go, 
out of some kind of mental bargain he had made 
with himself ; he preferred to put the responsibility 
on to his daughter’s shoulders. It was a gambler’s 
trick to test his luck. If Kate said ‘‘ go,” he would 
win. If she said ‘‘ wait until to-night,” he would 
lose. 

So far as she was concerned it did not seem to 
matter very much which she said, so she chose to 
do what he wished her to. 

‘‘ Then go,” — she got up and kissed him — ‘‘ I do 
hope that it will be all right.” 

He was pleased at once, and gay, and full of cer- 
tainty. There was enough left for him to have a 
pretty good plunge, and he told her that he was 
convinced that luck was with him. I saw a spider 
this morning when I got up ; of course, these things 
are all nonsense, but the night old Georges and I 
robbed the Casino at Tunis, I sa\y. just the same sort 
of spider — an ugly, blotchy old devil.” He held her 
at arm’s length. “ I know I’m in for a run of luck, 
and we shall start for Paris to-morrow.” 

Kate believed him. People have a natural instinct 
towards believing what they do not really wish for, 
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and she felt certain that the next day they would 
drive off in the orange and green carriage, and that 
she would never see Remi again. 

‘‘ I am sure that you will win,” she said, but without 
any real pleasure, as he went away through the high, 
dark doors. 

The hours were desperately long, incredibly so, 
and the hot sunlight moved off the house as the 
afternoon grew late, and Kate decided to go out. 
What was the use of waiting for an affronted Remi 
who would keep away until they were out of Trianon, 
and only remember them by the last awkward evening 
they had spent there. 

She put on a faded old hat which she had worn 
when the vagabond life had appeared romantic, and 
like a wonderful story. But, alas ! the putting on of an 
old hat never yet recovered an old mood, and she 
walked disconsolately up the hill to the cliff. Bergerac 
was filling up with summer visitors, and a number 
of little striped tents had been pitched on the sands 
below. Groups of bathers were laughing and dancing 
in the sea, and the shouts of children broke the air. 
Where she sat, she was isolated from it all, and felt 
very much alone. Not that she wanted any of 
these people, but she felt a little envious of them 
because they were care-free and happy, and their 
lives were simple and kindly. Francis laughed at them 
and turned them into ridicule, but that didn’t matter 
to them. They had got most of the things which 
count, and even if they were lacking in the special 
beauty he admired, they could well afford to dispense 
with it. 

It was heresy against Francis to think such thoughts, 
but most people are heretics occasionally. Taking 
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herself to task for passing disloyalty, she opened her 
book and began to read. It was a little paper pub- 
lication belonging to a series called Une heure d'^oubli 
... and as Kate was in search of forgetfulness, she 
felt the title appeal to her. The story itself did not 
help very much. A rich widow, beautiful as a dream, 
with a Prince, an English “ Sir ” and a Count for 
suitors led her exotic life through the pages. She 
lived surrounded by large gardens, and the gold- 
mounted boxes on her dressing-table were rich and 
rare ; she drank iced champagne, played cards, 
danced all night, and eventually broke the heart 
of a consumptive cousin who died of love, and on 
his tomb she set up a statue of herself as Diane 
chasseressei^^ 

Having finished with the exquisite and romantic 
widow, Kate threw the book into the sea. 

At least it had passed a little of the time, but 
she was not grateful, and when she turned, wondering 
if she should go back to the house and find another 
of the same series which were brought there, she 
suspected, by Hortense, she changed as quickly and 
suddenly as a snow hill changes under the reflection 
of sunset. 

Remi was coming up the road, and he waved his 
hand to her. 

Kate sat down abruptly. She couldn’t think at 
all ; she could do nothing but sit down and wait for 
him. It was the moment for the whole armour 
of righteousness, and she knew it, but she also knew 
that she was defenceless. 

‘‘ I have been stunting to an extent you would 
never believe,” he said, as he sat down on the grass. 

If I had got sunstroke it would have been your fault.” 

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“ Why my fault ? ” she asked, and her voice sounded 
a little shaky in her own ears. 

‘‘ Because I hurried to get back to you — of course. 
What have you been doing ? ” 

Reading,” she said laconically. 

Now, now,” — he laughed at her — ‘‘ to read, one 
must have a book.” 

“ I had,” — she recovered herself a little — and I 
threw it into the sea.” 

You don’t recommend yourself to me as a person 
to lend books to,” he said, sticking a piece of dry grass 
into her shoe. I shan’t lend you mine.” 

It belonged to Hortense.” 

‘‘ That makes it no better. Who is Hortense, in 
fact, and why should she have any rights ? In a 
Republican country, Kate, such views are not accept- 
able.” 

I think we are going away to-morrow,” she said, 
turning her eyes away. 

Remi sat up and put his hands over her’s. Then 
^my feeling was right when I risked sunstroke,” he 
"said. ‘‘ You once asked me if I was always right, 
and now you see for yourself that I am.” 

I wanted to say something to you, something 
I hate having to say,” she said uneasily, “ about last 
night. Were you very angry with Francis ? ” 

Can we never talk for five minutes without 
Francis thrusting himself into the conversation ? ” 
he asked. I was angry with him, if you must know, 
but he really does not come in here.” 

“I am not apologizing for him,” she said, and 
her face was very pale. ‘‘ Only I felt that you must 
have realized that we are better by ourselves.” 

I may be very stupid,” — he tightened the grip 
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of his hands — “ but I did not realize it. Don’t fence 
with me, Kate. I have to ask you a question sooner 
or later ; why not now ? ” 

“ But it will be no use.” She shook her head, and 
her eyes clouded quickly. In fact, I would far 
rather you never said it, because I like to think that 
you are ” — she hesitated again — that you are the 
person I want you to be.” 

‘‘ And how will what I have to say affect that ? ” 
He was very serious, and getting up he sat beside 
her. “ Do I become a monster, only because I 
love you and want to marry you, Kate ? If I do, 
then there is no help for it, because it is the truth.” 

“ But you can’t marry me,” she said ; there is 
Eugenie de Saint Roque. Georges told me ; in 
fact, he warned me about her.” 

‘‘ Eugenie de Saint Roque,” he said. ‘‘ She is 
my cousin, and there was and still is an idea in the 
family mind that she and I were to be tied together 
for life. If I were engaged to her, should I have 
come here to find you, would I have stayed here, 
would I have ? . . . Kate, I really think you might 
have known me a little better.” 

She turned to him and looked at him earnestly. 

I did believe it,” she said, and it is very hard to 
begin to understand that it is not true. Will you 
forgive me, Remi ? ” 

“ Directly you agree,” he said, “ not before.” 

Kate drew away from him. ‘‘ It has given me 
a wonderful memory,” she said slowly, and it will 
help a lot when I go away.” 

“ I shall go, too.” He put his arms round her. You 
are so perplexing, and you don’t seem to understand.” 

For a little while she rested her head on his shoulder 
246 


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and tried to draw all her strength back to her with 
a desperate effort. 

‘‘ It isn’t a thing we can settle,” she said. ‘‘ I have 
Francis to think of. I can’t give him up, not even 
for you.” 

He let her go and stood up impatiently. “ Your 
father has no right to you,” he said ; ‘‘ when you 
were a child he handed you over to your aunt, and 
when you came to him he did not take even the 
smallest care of you. God ! When I think of it ” — 
he spoke angrily — I hate him. It’s no use my pre- 
tending. You have to give up Francis.” 

I never will.” She faced him squarely. 

“ And you care so little for me ? ” 

“ Don’t say that.” She held out her hands. “ Only 
you can’t realize it all. When people have as much 
as you have, perhaps things matter less to them, 
but I am all he has now. Georges has gone, and 
I know it is true that he will never come back again 
to the old life ; Francis doesn’t make friends, and 
without me he would be alone, really. I know 
that he would, I know it.” 

People who are without friends are people who 
do not deserve friendship,” de Limay said, taking 
up his former place at her feet. 

‘‘ If I were to say that I want to marry you,” 
she went on desolately, “ he would choose to go away.” 

You mean that he would never agree willingly ? ” 

“ In a way. He would tell me to do exactly what 
I liked. You don’t imagine that he would try to 
persuade me against it,” — she flushed a little ; Francis 
is not like that.” 

If I ask him,” Remi said flrmly, what will 
he say ? ” 


247 


Blindfold 

He never has liked you, Remi. He would tell 
you so, and I know that the condition he would make 
with me would be that I must never see him any 
more.” Her voice broke a little at the thought, and 
trembled away vaguely. “ How could I take my 
own happiness, making him pay for it ? ” 

De Limay got up and paced the grass with his 
hands in his pockets. He knew Kate well enough 
to realize that what she said was absolutely sincere, 
and that she would not stir one inch from her con- 
viction. How had the man so imposed upon her ? 
He thought of him as a waster, who having spent 
his life sponging and swindling, was now snatching 
at his daughter’s youth, and holding it in his grasping 
hands. The Prodigal son was a gentleman who had 
no connexion with such as Huntingdon, and yet Kate 
believed in him and trusted him, without realizing 
his character in the least. He was still sore from 
the recollections of the past night, and by no means 
disposed to be forgiving. There is nothing so hard 
to forgive as ridicule, and Remi felt that Kate’s 
father had scored off him, even though the score had 
been quite an unfair one. 

And so you really imagine that I shall give you 
up, merely because your father does not approve 
of me ?” he asked, standing still. 

You don’t approve of each other,” she said. 
“ Do have a little understanding, Remi ; I know it 
is hard for you, but if there was anyone who depended 
on you as he does on me, you would never forsake 
them.” 

And have I no claim ? ” 

‘‘ It isn’t the same,” she said. If you will wait 
for me, you know that I will wait for you.” 

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I won’t wait,”— his voice was mutinous — neither 
will you wait.” He made a quick gesture. “ Waste 
the good years of our life, while you are dragged round 
Europe and tied to your father’s moods, as you were 
last night ? It would be intolerable.” 

Then I can only give you up.” 

“ And have I no voice in it ? Ah, Kate,” he sat 
down again and forgot to be angry with her, of all 
the crazy altruists on earth, you are the maddest. 
You say that Francis will have to pay for our happi- 
ness, and in the same breath you demand of me 
that I shall pay for his ; and what is it, in effect ? 
If he found a place where he could stake you against 
a winning number, he would do it without a qualm.” 

‘‘ That is untrue.” She started up and wrenched 
her hands away. If there is one thing I beli#ve 
in all this world, it is that Francis thinks differently 
of me to what he thinks of any other living soul. 
Because I believe that, I will stay with him. Indeed,” 
she softened again at the pain in de Limay’s eyes, it 
is my reason. Do you suppose it is easy for me 
either ? ” 

Sit down, Kate,” he said. ‘‘ We aren’t at the end 
of this yet. I shall tell your father how matters 
stand between us, in any case, with or without your 
consent, but I should like you to promise me that 
if, by some outside chance, he withdraws his opposi- 
tion, you won’t go back on me.” 

You and he will only fight,” she said sadly. “ I 
can’t see any hope yet. Some day ” 

I decline ^ some day,’ it doesn’t attract me. 
There is no real reason for it.” 

Kate covered her face with her hands. The strain 
was going beyond her powers of endurance, and 
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tears were close to her, but still she would not 
give in. 

‘‘ Talk to him, if you like,” she said, ‘‘ but only 
last night, sitting here, he told me that he had an 
inward fear that I might come to care for you. Oh, 
it had nothing to say to your engagement ; I think 
he had forgotten all that ; if it were only that, there 
would be no reason. . . . He said that he could 
not face the idea, it made him restless and wretched, 
and I promised him, though I didn’t say so in any 
actual words, that I would always stay with him, 
so long as ever he needed me.” 

And he accepted. He would,” de Limay replied 
fiercely. “ Very well, I shall tackle him about it, 
and if he won’t give in, we can talk it over again.” 

They were silent and sat apart. The sandy line 
of Medoc had lost itself in the sun-haze, and the 
low sound of the withdrawing tide was intensely 
sorrowful in Kate’s ears. As she saw it, there was 
no hope of Remi’s succeeding with her father. Francis 
could not be persuaded by the mere social advantages 
de Limay had to offer. How could he, when he 
had never cared for such things himself ? He had 
started life with rank and money and thrown them 
away because he wanted the special freedom of the 
outlaws. The strict, regulated life that would be 
hers with Remi would appear to him wholly without 
attraction of any kind. Remi himself was repellent 
to Francis ; they could mix as little as oil and vinegar. 
He would not say to himself that here was a chance 
for little Kate to establish herself, because he ignored 
all established institutions, and was entirely cynical 
as to the enduring power of love. Lovers did not 
please his mind ; they awoke him to a kind of scorn. 

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Once again she felt the loss of Georges — he might 
have helped them out of the impasse. With his 
light touch and his genius for knowing how to manage 
her father he would have circled round and round 
until the moment came when he could speak frankly. 
Remi’s blunt impetuosity gave her no real confidence. 
She pictured the scene between them, and the ever 
hardening iciness of Francis. Her father would 
welcome a chance to draw blood, and she had not 
told him that she loved Remi de Limay. 

She looked at Remi, who was staring out to sea. 
So long as Francis was there, she must be with him, 
his green tree that he looked at out of the prison 
cell he had constructed for himself. Now and then 
she gauged the depths of his loneliness, and whenever 
she did, she clung to him afresh. 

Her eyes were very clear as she met his, and he 
took her hands and kissed her. 

I can’t leave Francis,” she said, more to herself 
than to him. 

‘‘ But I shall tell him.” 

‘‘ Yes,” she said, ‘‘ tell him,” but her voice was 
dull and hopeless. 

You don’t think that I shall succeed ? ” he said, 
holding her hand as they walked down the path 
together. 

‘‘ It is one of the things which can’t be altered,” Kate 
replied. She stood for a moment and smiled. Why 
aren’t you like poor Parquet ? Parquet wouldn’t 
have mattered a bit to Francis. We should all have 
gone on together like gypsies in a caravan, and you 
could have sung at the cafe chantant. We might have 
been very happy.” 

I can’t help not being like Parquet,” he objected. 

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‘‘ In any case, you don’t care for him, eligible as he 
is.” 

He was in the picture.” She shook her head. 

He belonged to our life, so did Georges, but you 
— never, never, never.” 

“ And for all that, you love me. You are sure, 
you do ? ” 

I do,” — they walked on again — against my 
reason. When I think of Tante Sophie, I wonder 
at myself.” She put a hand up to her faded little 
hat instinctively. Only it doesn’t matter. Nannie 
at Clanmore, ages ago, used to say, ‘ Well, well, 
nothing will ever come out of it ’.” 

She was only a silly old woman,” de Limay said. 
‘‘ Give me a chance to-night, Kate, after dinner. 
When I say ‘ Did you like the book you were reading ? ’ 
get up and tell me that you must finish it. Will 
you remember that ? ” 

“ I will remember,” she said, as they walked into 
the dark, cool hall together. 


252 


Chapter 2 1 

F rancis took the tram down to Maurennes. 

It was drawn by an engine which might have 
been invented by a child with a taste for mechanics, 
and it consisted of two open compartments, with 
benches facing both ways. Children with spades 
and shrimping nets, elderly Frenchmen in white 
suits, and one whose passion for colour led him slightly 
astray, in crimson trousers and a pale blue coat, sat 
heavily, leaning on their sticks. Women in vivid 
tints and in black crowded the carriages, and Francis 
looked at them indifferently. In women, as such, he 
did not feel any interest, but the Parisienne ” pleased 
him. He picked out one among the others, who 
was evidently seeking fresh fields in Maurennes, and 
her red lips and powdered face made him, as he said 
to himself, “ positively homesick.” 

They streamed down past the gay villas, catching 
occasional glimpses of the sea, and past the hard courts 
where no one ever played any tennis, and down the 
hill of La Falaise into Maurennes itself. Already 
the heavy white dust of midsummer was dulling the 
green of the trees and the place was becoming airless 
and overcrowded. Huntingdon usually went there 
at night, and the effect was less crude than by day, 
but it did not trouble him. Already his thoughts 

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had run on to the future, and his eyes were on the 
purple dome of the Casino, the French tricolor 
flaming against the aching blue of the sky. He 
stopped to have a drink at a cafe at the corner of 
the road opposite the high iron gates, where the 
ahonnes went in on one side, and the frivolous, who 
merely took tickets by the day, on the other. A 
flaring poster announced a the dansant that drew the 
younger people from the beach — but again, Francis 
was not interested in such as they. 

For the first time in his life he wondered what 
Chance was like. Was she a woman, or did she 
exist at all, except in the imagination of gamblers ? 
For his own part, Francis would have preferred her 
to be a man, but because of her wilfulness he sus- 
pected that her sex was feminine. He meant to 
capture her in the afternoon, which was dead 
against all the gamblers’ belief. Georges used to 
play in the afternoons, but then he was never a 
real gambler, he loved other things equally well, 
and had more than once left the rooms to go in 
pursuit of a woman. A man who could do that 
couldn’t be regarded quite seriously. 

Francis drank his iced drink slowly. So much 
depended on this one afternoon’s play, because he 
intended to risk all their resources in a final encounter, 
and had to get the idea of loss out of his mind so 
far as he possibly could. Chance haunted him. You 
could not get away from her ; no one could. Even 
the scientists had their formula of a variable unknown 
quantity, upon which the value of the known always 
depended. It complicated their problems, and they 
accepted the mysterious ‘‘ X,” searching for the law 
by which it governed the known quantity Y.” 

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It came into everything, upset things, altered the 
whole course of the lives of men and nations, and 
touched every living soul, from the smallest to the 
greatest. Birth and death belonged to it, love was its 
province and, more than anyone else, the gambler 
admitted its power. ‘‘Y” was there, under your 
hand, but at the mercy of X.” He watched the 
passers in the sunny street, and the carts and motors 
going by. They were all of them making sport 
for “ X ” if they only knew it. Some of them would 
be used by ‘‘ X,” he reflected, just as Kate had been, 
when she upset Laurie’s apple-cart so completely. 
There was a great deal of X ” about Kate, he thought 
with a smile. 

What really mattered was, how “ X ” was going 
to affect him when he got up and walked into the 
Casino. He felt very calm about it suddenly, much 
more so than he had been when he was gambling 
lately, and he paid his bill and made his way across 
the road. 

Most of the people who were going in at the gates 
were, obviously, set upon dancing — parties of young 
men and girls, who chattered and laughed together, 
who cared nothing for the tables and knew nothing 
of the dominion of ‘‘X.” They went in at the 
entrance on the right, and Huntingdon nodded to 
the commissionaire on the left, who touched his 
peaked cap very politely. Every one of the personnel 
of the Casino knew him by sight and regarded him 
with great admiration. They took an interest in his 
fortunes, and recognized him as a man who understood 
their world. 

He followed the frivolous dancers up the steps into 
the hall, and the sound of music reached him. Collet 

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and his staff were lounging idly at the table where 
no one was playing, and the large windows at the 
end of the gambling-room were shaded by rucked tussore 
silk blinds, but intense boredom was in the air, and 
the evening dress of the croupiers looked shabby and 
rumpled in the soft, clear light. Francis nodded 
to Collet, who awoke from his lethargy, and went on 
into the dancing-room. Once again he wondered 
if his nerve was altogether steady, for he felt a curious 
reluctance to begin. 

A dancing class were practising their steps, little 
girls with plaits, and bunchy-looking older girls who 
took their pleasure seriously, counting the bars as they 
danced together. A professor, whose duty it was 
to single out the wallflowers, danced with the solemnly 
abstracted air of a man who may not feel partiality 
or passion, and his wife led out the smaller children 
and instructed them wearily. All round the room 
a row of intensely respectable women, whose aggre- 
gate weight would have amounted to something 
colossal, watched the proceedings as though they were 
in a Church, and the atmosphere was heavy and 
intense. 

Francis removed a baby’s frilled hat from a table 
before him and sat down. He intended to smoke a 
cigarette before he began to play, and he thought 
that this was not a place where there was any suggestion 
of ‘‘ X.” It was like a good children’s party, and 
the watching matrons gave him a sense of safety. The 
desire of the moth for the star had no place in their 
dreams, and the sinister side of life — did it really exist ? 
They made him feel unreal. 

He was not amused by them, but he sat on, watching 
them. Kate ought to be dancing there with a boy 
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of about her own age in a striped blazer ; this was the 
right setting for a girl. He frowned as he remem- 
bered the Bal Coquelicot, She would look very well, 
dancing with Remi de Limay, if she had a decent 
dress to wear. Francis promised her a new outfit, 
as he watched a slim girl in white go past. He also 
promised her a “ good time ” rather vaguely. He 
would take her to an expensive hotel at Nice during 
the winter and let her meet the type of men who took 
life for granted, and who were different to Parquet. 

It was a mistake for a girl to live too close to 
“ X,” if she belonged to the type to which Kate 
belonged, and the idea of her missing de Limay was 
obnoxious to him. He had driven Remi out, which 
was some consolation. 

Lighting another cigarette, he wondered whether 
de Limay was seriously in love with the girl. If he 
were, it only added to the danger, and did not mollify 
Francis in ihe least. So far as he was concerned, 
she might as well be dead as married to Remi, and 
how tired she would get of it all, he reflected. Paris 
would cure her effectually, and Bergerac was dull 
enough to make any girl fall in love with the nearest 
personable-looking young man in the place. He 
drove out the thought of X ” again, and suddenly 
saw himself like a man who was walking slowly backward 
instead of forward to a given point. 

This was simply ridiculous. 

He got up from the table and looked back at the 
room where the innocent dancers trotted and hesi- 
tated with unflagging zeal, and said good-bye to them. 
A woman sitting near one of the arches also got up, 
and with a composed face walked out on tiptoe as 
though fearing to disturb a company of devout wor- 
257 R 


Blindfold 

shippers. She was enormously stout, and her heavy- 
face told that she was critical of disposition. Francis 
had always believed that fat women were ill-natured, 
and he regarded her as another proof of the fact, 
snatching at any extraneous thought which drifted 
towards him on the surface of his mind. Below 
that surface the dark waters of X ” were like Isar, 
“ rolling rapidly,” and he walked up to the Caisse 
where red counters were given in exchange for real 
money, and keeping twenty francs in his pocket- 
book he made his wholehearted bid for fortune. 
In some vague way, he thought that if he threw 
himself on the mercy of Chance, she could hardly 
let him down. 

It was everything, and there was no Georges to 
hold up a reserve and cling to it in spite of Francis. 
Georges believed in keeping open a door of escape, and 
often pretended that he had nothing left, when in 
reality he had worked out the price of his ticket and 
that of Francis back to Paris, and put it away. In 
Paris there was always some one who would lend. 

Yet there was a kind of relief in being so free, a 
definite pleasure in knowing that he had flung all 
reason aside, and was, in fact, behaving as madly as 
men do not often dare to do. Courage must bring 
its own reward ... of course it must. 

Collet was delighted to welcome him. “ There 
is not one who cares to play,” he said, “ and all the 
afternoon I sit here, Monsieur Huntingdon, and 
listen to the scrape — scrape of those ridiculous fiddles, 
until I have no self-respect left. The people who 
come in, look at us as if we were part of a Guignol 
show. It is very hard to bear, and I am ashamed of 
being seen in such a place.” 

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Am I to have everything to myself ? ” Francis 
asked, taking a chair and sitting down beside Collet. 
‘‘ It looks like it.” 

He had recovered all his usual calm again now 
that he was sitting there. 

All to yourself, Monsieur,” Collet replied, ‘‘ un- 
less they follow you in. They are sheep, in any case.” 

Francis staked and staked carefully, only to curse 
his own caution a minute later, when he saw that 
his luck was in. He had funked putting the whole 
pile of red counters on his first couf^ and if he had, 
he would have gone away at once. That was what 
he had arranged with himself to do. He might 
have done it the second and third time, but the 
spirit of Georges seemed to be upon him, and he 
played carefully. He had made a respectable amount, 
and let one or two coiifs pass without staking, and 
then he gathered up all the little red leather circles 
that were piled under his hand and backed one num- 
.ber. He did not take the smallest care, but acted 
on an inward impulse. Even for a fairly reckless 
gambler it was rather a wild proceeding, and Collet 
looked at him and paused for the eighth of a second. 

Collet admired Francis, and he felt anxious. He 
knew that he gambled scientifically as a rule, and 
here he was, playing like a boy who had lost his head. 
As he was a humane and kindly man, he never liked 
to see boys playing like that, because it had ended 
fatally more than once in his experience of life. 
He would like to have extended his rake and pulled 
back half of the pile and made Francis take it back, 
but, after all, it was no affair of his. 

One or two other people had drifted in, and were 
risking five francs anxiously, and Francis got up 
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and walked away. Collet, an observer of signs, drew 
in his lips tightly, and the noise of the ball rolling 
and the steady “ Faites vos jeuXy Messieurs^'^ sounded 
like the response to a litany. Francis was standing 
in the window, his back to the room, and he heard 
the monotonous voice, followed by ‘‘ Rien ne va 
plus, le jeu est 

What was X ’’ doing, he wondered ? ‘‘ X ” 

was certainly at work with his destiny and that of 
Kate. He turned quickly, and saw that he had lost. 

Outwardly he did not seem to care in the least, 
and came back to the tables and watched the harassed 
people with their five franc losses without any sign of 
distress, and then he nodded to Collet. 

“You will play to-night, Monsieur ? ” Collet 
asked. 

“ I expect so.” Francis walked away and took his 
hat and stick from an attendant. 

“ Play to-night.” It was like a bad joke. He had 
exactly twenty francs in the world, and Kate probably 
had not half that. “ X ” had let him down badly. 

He walked out of the Casino grounds with a numb 
feeling in his brain. There was no use wondering 
what madness had possessed him, because if you have 
behaved madly it remains for you to stand the con- 
sequences once you are sane again, which is never 
a pleasant experience. 

There was no train back to Bergerac for some 
time, and in any case, what was the use of hurrying ? 
He would have to think what they were to do. 

It wasn’t possible to stay a whole month at Trianon. 
If Georges had been there they might have done it, 

but de Limay and he He broke off impatiently. 

It never paid to enjoy the pleasure of scoring off 
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anyone. He had indulged in that expensive form 
of amusement the night before, and it hit him in 
his hour of necessity. 

He came very slowly and gradually towards an 
idea that he disliked intensely. He could not borrow 
from Elise as Georges had done, and it was impossible 
for him even to contemplate the idea of asking Kate to 
do anything of the kind. But Remi de Limay was 
in Ic /e with Kate. The words repeated themselves 
over and over again in his mind, Remi de Limay is 
in love with Kate.” 

A man who is in love will forgive a great deal to 
the father of the girl he loves. Remi was rich, and 
money meant nothing to him. He could lend, and 
never feel it. Francis sat down on a seat under a dusty 
tree, and made lines with his stick in the sandy soil 
in front of him. 

“ Remi de Limay is in love with Kate.” 

He scribbled an “ X ” and defaced it again. It 
was such a thieves’ game . . . but he had only twenty 
francs. 

If he could play once more he might easily win 
everything back. The easy belief of the gambler 
came to his assistance, and anything was better than 
looking facts in the face. 

He, and de Limay hadn’t hit it off very well, but 
then, Francis had never attempted to be civil or 
encouraging in any way. . . . Suppose that he changed 
his attitude — he closed his eyes quickly as though 
something had hurt him. Well, suppose he did ? 
Georges had said that Remi could be trusted, and 
he knew men ; one might accept his guarantee. Georges 
had even blamed him for spoiling a harmless romance 
that led nowhere — nowhere dangerous, in any case. 
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Should he give de Limay his chance with the girl, if 
he . . . Huntingdon fenced again. He couldn’t be 
expected to kick his heels in Bergerac with the Casino 
doors closed against him. If Remi wanted Kate 
to stay at Trianon, he would have to see to it that 
her father was not bored to death. 

It meant risking his own power over Kate, which 
counted so much, but something else counted more ; 
that was the ugly truth. And as well as that, they 
had to go back to Paris. One thing he was sure 
of, and that was that de Limay would not give 
Kate the smallest hint of any transaction that might 
take place between him and her father. He was 
honest and straight, even if he were already en- 
gaged. You couldn’t logically blame a man for 
what was not his fault. 

Again he made the sign of “ X ” in the sand, and 
left it there. It would be easier if he did not dislike 
de Limay so intensely. Formerly he had only bor- 
rowed from his friends, or men who were his inferiors, 
and he had not found it hard or shameful. To 
borrow from de Limay would be different. 

His face grew pinched, as he sat there thinking it 
all over, and the one question he refused to ask himself 
was, what Kate would think of him. She would not 
know ; that was the only comforting reflection he had. 

But that cursed de Limay. He would have to 
be tackled in some new way, and also it must be 
made clear to him that he was to be the gainer. To 
hold out hopes of repayment, and talk lightly of 
being out of funds for the moment,” or to say 
that he was “ waiting for a letter from England ” 
would not be the smallest use. Every man has 
his price, and de Limay was no different from the 
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rest. It was awkward that the inducement had 
to be Huntingdon’s own daughter, and it would 
require the nicest tact to convey this, without any 
suggestion of unspeakably bad form. 

Lovers are not critical, he reflected, and already 
de Limay despised him, though he resented it hotly. 
He had longed to trample, and instead he was forced 
to cringe. 

At that he got up and began the homeward walk. 
He would not cringe. He would use all his audacity 
and skill, and make the situation possible, instead 
of impossible. Once or twice before he had carried 
off a rather doubtful bargain with flying colours ; but 
then, of course, Kate had not been involved. 

Poor little Kate ! He climbed the road slowly. What 
bad luck for her to have such a father, or, having 
such a father, what bad luck that he had played on a 
losing number. The less he thought about her 
then, the better for the future. It was no moment 
for heroics, no moment either for thought that 
led in her direction. It was better to think of what 
Georges had said, and all his pretty — pretty talk about 
young romance. There might be something in it, 
and Kate — ^you could trust Kate anywhere, her pride 
was so firm and sure. It was de Limay who made 
the real bad weather ahead. Francis felt his hands 
grow damp. It wouldn’t be easy to borrow as though 
he conferred a favour in doing so, with that cold-eyed 
face looking at him and disbelieving everything he said. 

Remi de Limay is in love with Kate,” he said 
again, and by Gad, he is going to pay for it.” 


263 


chapter 2 2 

H e avoided meeting either of them when he 
got back to Trianon, and went straight to his 
own room, but before dinner was ready Kate tapped 
at his door and came in. 

He was sitting by the window, looking out, and 
turned when she spoke to him but did not get up. 

‘‘ You had luck,” she said, “ Pm sure you had.” 
The best,” he replied. “ I left old Collet weeping 
and tearing his hair.” 

“ Are you going back to-night ? ” 

“ I shan’t risk it,” — he got up and looked at his 
watch — “ one mustn’t try anything too high.” 

“ Francis,” — she put her hand on his arm. ‘‘ will 
you be very nice to Remi to-night, for my sake ? ” 
“ He is back, then ? ” Huntingdon frowned pain- 
fully. 

‘‘ He came back this afternoon late, and I do want 
our last evening here to be a good one. I suppose 
we are going to Paris to-morrow ? ” 

‘‘ Perhaps,” he said doubtfully. ‘‘ I am not quite 
sure. So you want me to behave nicely to de Limay ? ” 
“ If you only would.” 

“ And you would be happy if I did ? You mind 
as much as that ? ” 

‘‘ I mind what he thinks of you,” she said. 

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“ Is he anything to either of us ? ” 

She went past him to the window, and stood there, 
a dim shape against the fading light. ‘‘ I mind most 
on your account,” she said at last. 

“ But it took some time to be quite sure ? I see,” 
Francis spoke reflectively, “ then you would simply 
hate it if he were to despise me.” 

She turned quickly. “ Francis ! What a word 
to use. You know that you and he didn’t hit it off 
very well, and if this is really our last night ? . . .” 

You would like him to remember what a really 
admirable guest I can be ? Very good, Kate, I shall 
do my best to please you.” 

She was ridiculously grateful, and fluttered towards 
him and pressed her face to his. I want you 
even to try and like him a little,” she said. 

“For your sake again, or because of his virtues ? ” 

“ For both.” She turned on the electric light. 
“ Here we are in the dark, and we are civilized. Why 
have we been in the dark, Francis ? ” 

“ We can see our faults less clearly,” he said ; “ that 
is a good reason.” 

She looked at him steadily and a slight qualm 
touched her. For a man who had been winning he 
looked worn and almost haggard, and his eyes were 
heavy and dull. This was how he would look, night 
after night, if she were away from him, and her heart 
filled with a passionate longing to help him. Remi 
might do or say anything he liked, but she knew that 
Francis needed her. 

“ I don’t think that afternoon gambling suits 
you,” she said reproachfully. “ You are dreadfully 
tired.” 

“ I missed the train and never thought of taking a 
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car. There were cars, but somehow I didn’t think 
of it.” 

“ So you walked back. It was very foolish of 
you.” 

‘‘ It was,” he agreed. I shall sleep all the better.” 

Again, a sense of distress affected her. Francis 
was uncomfortably different to what he usually was 
when he had been winning money, but she decided 
that the long, hot walk explained it, and anyhow, he 
had said that he would behave well to Remi. 

When they assembled in the dining-room, Francis 
looked better, and his spirits were high. Without 
the smallest awkwardness he met de Limay as though 
they had always been the best of friends, and as 
dinner went on, he had made the situation both 
easy and natural. Remi’s stiffness, which he had 
not been able to hide, vanished. Huntingdon looked 
battered, but like a battered portrait by Rembrandt 
which had a nobility of its own that made it impres- 
sive, and he was amusing without saying anything 
which jarred upon his host. 

Yet even as he thought this, a touch of misgiving 
laid a cold finger upon Remi de Limay, and he remem- 
bered the story of the man who blew hot and cold. 
The words, This smacks too much of sorcery came 
into his mind, and Francis, who had been looking 
at him, avoided his eyes suddenly. 

The man was playing a role, but for whose benefit ? 
Kate needed no special piping to charm her and cause 
her to dance. She was delighted, and her eyes were 
bright and her face delicately flushed. Then, it 
was for Remi himself that Francis was playing the 
tune, with the compelling cadence that the Pied 
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Piper might have used to clear Hamelin of rats and 
children. The idea struck de Limay like a stone, 
and he listened more attentively. He could not 
feel any faith in Huntingdon, and was stooping to 
suspicion, which he hated himself for. 

Surely, as he intended to speak to him of Kate, 
and demand the right to possess her, like a young 
highwayman, he ought to feel glad that Francis was 
in a responsive mood — even more than that — in the 
mood of a king who has a mind to confer favours. 
Even so, he did not like him any better. 

Francis nearly broke the bank at Maurennes,” 
Kate said in a pause, and her father turned and 
looked at her with a look that de Limay could not 
understand. 

“ My congratulations,” he said, raising his glass. 

This altered things for the worse. He felt that 
if Kate’s father had won, he would be like the pro- 
verbial beggar on horse-back, and that the effect of 
security upon him would be what it is on so many 
people, to make him doubly objectionable. It looked 
as though he had been wrong. Francis, who must 
have won pretty largely, was no longer Satanic, 
but gracious and even playful. Perhaps he was 
pleased to think that he was taking Kate away so 
soon. 

I hope you are not going to leave at once,” he 

said. 

‘‘ We have been here a long time,” Francis replied, 
and he looked down at the plate before him. 

I shall make you give me a new dress and a new 
hat,” Kate said, speaking to her father. “ You 
owe them to me for ages.” 

“ You shall have them.” 

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“ Were you playing on a system ? ” Remi asked. 
The conversation had suddenly fallen rather flat. 

‘‘ With a stern simplicity,” Francis said lightly. 
“ It was a commonplace affair.” 

Once again Remi found him inexplicable. What 
was he up to ? 

“ I expect you have heard of the unknown quantity,” 
— Huntingdon made an X on the tablecloth with 
the handle of his fork — a cursedly curious thing. 
I tried to work it out in my mind as I walked back.” 
He looked up without raising his head. It decides 
the problem of the known, and is always stronger, 
because, naturally, what you know you are more or 
less prepared for, but what you do not know is an 
uneasy thing to account for. What you know,” 
he made another cross on the cloth, “ is like a dog, 
and you whistle it, throw it a bone, or a stick, and 
at worst you can kick it out. What you don’t know is 
like a wolf.” 

“ And must be kept from the door,” Remi said, 
with a shudder at his own deadly platitude, but the 
effect of it on Francis was curious to watch, for 
though he said nothing his bent head and raised eyes 
were vilely unpleasant. 

“ Exactly,” he replied ; ‘‘ you can express it so.” 

I don’t know,” Kate objected. Sometimes 
what you know frightens you, and you pin all your 
faith on X ; at least I do.” She looked from one 
to the other of them and wondered a little, as Hor- 
tense removed the plates and set the dessert on the 
table. They weren’t getting on as well as they 
had been, and were they all to drift back into hos- 
tihties with the coming of peaches and apricots, and 
the placing of the port decanter on the table ? 

268 


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Francis began to talk again, and her nerves relaxed. 
He was quite peaceful. Whatever dark thought had 
overshadowed him for the moment had passed away, 
and once more he was gay and light of touch. He 
even spoke of the previous night. 

“ Kate says I was most unkind to the absent Georges,” 
he said, raising his glass and looking at his hand : it 
was quite steady. I never meant to be. There 
isn’t a man living whom I respect so much. If I did 
appear to laugh at him, it was only in the way that 
a good Catholic might laugh now and then at the 
Pope, without the smallest hint of disloyalty or dis- 
respect. We owe him,” he turned and looked at 
Remi, ‘‘ this visit to Trianon, and all it has meant 
for both of us. Isn’t that so, Kate ? ” 

Her face was burning and she looked at Remi. 

“ Georges is a dear,” she said softly. 

“ I am glad you like Bergerac,” de Limay said, 
looking back at her. “ What were you doing this 
afternoon ? ” 

Once again Kate flamed hotly. She knew that 
she was about to get her cue to retire, but Francis 
went on talking. 

‘‘ I suppose Kate has told you about Clanmore, her 
aunt’s place in Ireland ? ” 

I have seen Miss Maxwell,” Remi said briefly. 
Then you have seen a woman who has told me 
what she thinks of me, more than once,” Francis 
laughed. Laurie ought to have married young. 
If she had she would have smacked her children and 
brought them up to sing psalms and hymns and 
spiritual songs.” 

“ She never smacked me.” Kate was on the defensive 
at once. 

269 


Blindfold 

“ You were not her own child, that made the 
difference. As it is, she missed the tide, and is left 
high and dry. She is one of the few women I have 
ever really liked or trusted.” 

“ And did she either like or trust you ? ” was the 
question that sprang to Remi’s lips, but he remained 
dumb. 

“ It says a great deal,” Francis continued, “ because 
in the vanity of our hearts, de Limay, as you have 
probably noticed, we only like people whom we 
believe, at least, to like us. If you can like anyone 
who you know has very different feelings towards 
you, it becomes a fine compliment.” 

I see your point,” de Limay agreed, and glanced 
at the clock. ‘‘Were you out after dejeunety Made- 
moiselle ? ” 

Francis looked at him, and spoke again. “ One 
moves towards or away from toleration as one grows 
older. As for me,” he moved his hands with a wide 
gesture, “ I have come to tolerate every one.” 

“ Did you like the book you were reading ? ” 
Remi asked Kate with a sudden ferocity of tone, and 
she played nervously with her glass. 

“ Very much,” she said. “ I mean, not at all, 
but I suppose I ought to finish it.” She got up and 
went round to her father and put her hands on his 
shoulders. 

“ Well, Kate,” — he looked up at her — “ what is 
it ?” 

“ Nothing,” she said, “ only I think I shall go out 
and sit in the garden.” 

“ Do ! ” He seemed to want her to remove her hands, 
and she withdrew them at once. 

“ We will join you for coffee,” de Limay said, as 
270 


Blindfold 

he opened the door for her, and she went out, look- 
ing back to see her father making another X on the 
tablecloth with an absorbed air. 

It was grateful to come out into the blue night, 
and the still clear light held against the darkness 
which would finally swallow it up. Kate sat down 
and watched Hortense carry the heavy silver tray 
down the steps to where she was sitting, and she told 
herself that all would be well. Francis had promised 
to be what Georges called nice,” and who could 
be nicer when he so desired it ? 

For the moment she was well content with love, 
and the necessity of marriage which obsessed Remi 
did not touch her. If Francis was well disposed, she 
could see Remi in Paris, and write to him, have the 
thought of him close to her heart, without thereby 
cheating her father of one iota of all he asked of her. 
She could give doubly to him, if it came to that, 
and he would be content. 

The idea of renouncing Remi faded into the back- 
ground. There was no need for it if he and Francis 
got on so well in the future as they had during dinner. 
And yet^a slight sense of distress darkened the picture 
by its shadow. Francis had been just a little strange 
every now and then, and his eyes disturbing. Some 
sound in his voice, some slight over-emphasis in 
everything he had said and done, made her doubtful. 

What were they doing or saying now ? She would 
have given worlds to be able to tell, and she knew 
that if she chose to walk along the veranda, outside 
wide open windows, she could hear all that they both 
said, but to eavesdrop, however innocently, was out 
of the question. 

A thin slip of a moon hung just between the 
271 


Blindfold 

purple grey of the sea, and the misty pink of the 
fading sunset. It hung there like a strangely-shaped 
fruit, rather than a moon, flushed with a deep orange- 
red, and above it, one quiet star. It was intensely 
peaceful in the garden, and Kate flUed her coffee 
cup, hoping devoutly that the same peacefulness 
reigned in the panelled dining-room, where she had 
left Francis making another of his agitating crosses on 
the table. 


272 


Chapter 2 3 

W HEN Kate left the room, the silence which 
fell between the two men was intense in its 
quality. Each of them had a favour to ask, and of 
all people on earth would have preferred anyone 
else from whom to demand anything. 

‘‘ I wouldn’t ask him to let me light my cigarette 
with his match, if I could help it,” Remi told himself. 

Huntingdon set his teeth hard. He regarded de 
Limay’s silence as an affront. Directly Kate had 
gone he evidently intended to be insolent, and was 
showing it in the first instance by ignoring his guest. 
However, the devil was driving, and Francis had no 
choice but to go on, so he cut a green almond into 
quarters and then sat back in his chair. 

I was bluffing during dinner,” he said, his dark 
eyes on Remi’s face. You didn’t guess it, did you ? ” 
De Limay was startled out of his own thoughts. 
“ Now you ask me,” he said, ‘‘ I thought there was 
something ... I couldn’t tell what, though.” 

You see, there’s Kate,” Huntingdon replied. 
“ She takes things rather hard. I used to play be- 
cause I was born with that taste, and for years I have 
had no one but myself to think of. Lately, it has 
been different, and to-day I played to win, because 
of her.” He paused and studied Remi quickly, and 
273 s 


Blindfold 

hated him again, because of his calm. Any ordinary 
Frenchman would have met him half-way, and become 
almost epic "on the subject. 

“ Well, I lost,” he went on. 

“ But isn’t that inevitable ? ” de Limay asked. 

Oh, it’s all very well to say ‘ inevitable.’ ” Hun- 
tingdon leaned forward again and played with the 
green shells of the almonds on his plate. You 
probably regard me as hopelessly immoral, at least I 
imagine so.” 

Remi made no answer. 

But there is one thing you do not understand, 
and that is, that Kate matters to me.” 

I think I do.” 

‘‘ Her happiness, I ought to say,” Francis cor- 
rected himself. “ I want her to be happy.” 

Was this the moment for him to charge boldly in, 
Remi wondered ? Yet, as he looked at Huntingdon, 
he realized that he was preoccupied by some dominant 
thought, and as he appeared to be determined to 
speak, it might be better to wait. He waited. 

‘‘ I want her to be happy,” Francis spoke again, 
‘‘ and to get something out of life, and this brings 
me to the question of our being here at Trianon. 
It isn’t a particularly dignified position, to have come 
here with Georges as we did, but I am glad we came,” 
he laughed and looked up. ‘‘ Gad ! What a life.” 

“ I am very glad she did come,” Remi said, watch- 
ing him curiously, “ speaking for my own feelings.” 

There was another pause, and Huntingdon seemed 
to be feeling the heat, for he got up and stood in 
the window and then came back to the table again. 

“ You have looked upon me as an enemy ? ” he 
asked, and he lifted his glass and drank. 


Blindfold 

Certainly I have. You took no trouble to hide 
it.” 

“ And you realize that she is very much influenced 
by what I feel ? ” Again he looked down and fiddled 
with the almonds. 

“ I think you will forgive me when I say, ridicu- 
lously so.” After all, Huntingdon seemed to be 
playing into de Limay’s own suit, and he lighted a 
cigarette. He had been quite right to wait. 

“ Ridiculously so, then.” Francis looked at him 
with acid eyes. I agree to forgive the term, but 
the fact remains that she minds what I say.” 

Again there was another teasing silence, horribly 
nerve-jarring to Kate’s father. You resent it ? ” 
he asked. 

Yes.” 

And your idea has been to fight me for her ? ” 

I certainly never intended to give her up, merely 
because you dislike me.” 

I like that in you,” — Francis showed great geni- 
ality of manner — but it doesn’t make you a winner, 
does it ? ” He leaned farther across the table and 
stared straight into de Limay’s face ; “ It doesn’t give 
you the trump card, mon cher, and Kate will do what 
I want, if I use any persuasion.” 

Remi looked at him with a well-controlled longing 
to strike him. He was still puzzled as to what the 
man meant, for obviously he meant something. For 
a second an idea crossed his mind, and he threw it 
from him as being too vile to consider, even for an 
instant. “ If it were not that there is no reason for 
it, I should imagine that you were threatening me,” 
he said quietly. I hardly believe this to be possible, 
so can you not make yourself clear ? ” 

27s 


Blindfold 

I could,” — ‘Francis did not stir — ‘‘ but you ought 
to know that it is better to avoid explanations. I 
tell you quite frankly, that if I choose to hold you 
up, you may say good-bye to Kate.” 

‘‘ You reckon without her and without me,” Remi 
said with sudden heat. 

‘‘ Without you, but not without her.” Francis 
leaned back again and laughed once more. 

There was truth in it. If he were to appeal to 
Kate, Remi could not be sure that he would stand 
a chance against her father, and he re-captured a 
strong hold on his temper. 

‘‘ She does care,” he said ; ‘‘ I intended to tell you 
that myself.” 

Then you would have told me something which 
I already know,” Huntingdon said drily. ‘‘ It hap- 
pens to be the main point in my argument. If 
she did not care you might whistle for her. Her 
caring, however, gives you nothing, unless I back 
you.” 

“ That is true,” Remi agreed. He wondered at 
Francis. How could any man with decent breeding 
and all the outward signs of civilization about him 
speak as he had just spoken ? For the instant he had 
forgotten that Huntingdon had lost at the tables, or 
if he did remember it, it conveyed very little to his 
mind. 

Yes, that is true and I will not labour the point,” 
Francis said. ‘‘ The question between us is, whether 
you want me to stand aside and give you a chance. 
I think,” he spoke with a touch of misery in his voice, 
“ that Kate need not be told anything, if you don’t 
give me away to her.” 

The last part of his remark did not touch Remi. 

276 


Blindfold 

He was absorbed in what concerned himself and Kate, 
and felt that he must know what card Huntingdon 
had up his sleeve. Francis had spoken of the question 
between them being whether or not he should stand 
aside. If he did, Kate need not suffer. There was 
a bargain in it, Remi had arrived at that point quite 
definitely. 

“ Then what is the basis of the agreement ? ” he 
asked, speaking very slowly. 

‘‘ You are not particularly astute,” Francis said, 
his eyes full of anger, but I suppose you want plain 
speech as part of your damned price. Look here,” — 
again he leaned over the table and spoke in his un- 
friendly way — you love my daughter, and so long 
as I object, you can’t get her. I told you that I had 
been bluffing during dinner, because of instead of 
winning, I had lost. I lost everything except twenty 
francs — is that simple enough ? It is ? Good. If I 
withdraw my objection to you, you must pay for it.” 

He drew a desperate breath and watched de Limay 
with his awful haggard eyes. ‘‘ I told you last night 
that we did not sell our daughters as a rule, and 
that there were exceptions. I am one of them.” 

De Limay waited for a moment before he replied. 
It took time to realize all Huntingdon meant. He 
had regarded Francis, from the first, as beneath 
disdain. 

Even he had not nearly plumbed the depths of 
his warped soul. But there were degrees in what a 
man might do, even if he had fallen very low. Remi 
read Huntingdon’s haunted eyes, and noted his effort 
to carry off the situation with an effect of shameless 
audacity. He believed that de Limay was engaged, 
277 


Blindfold 

pledged to his cousin, bound by the rigid formality 
of a French fian failles, which no man in his position 
could break. All this de Limay knew from what 
Kate had told him. The offer he had made to de 
Limay was, therefore, not to stand aside and allow 
him to try and win his daughter’s love on any romantic 
lines, but to remove the aegis of his own protection 
from Kate, which he had heretofore held to be 
necessary, and pass cynically out, while the girl either 
sank or swam, and Remi proceeded along whatever 
line he chose to adopt. 

Remi hesitated between two alternatives. He in- 
tended to punish Francis Huntingdon and give him 
a lesson, but he wanted to do it thoroughly. He 
decided that he would let him go a little deeper into 
the black mud of his self-chosen gutter. No decent 
man could pity a scavenger such as he. 

“ How much do you want ? ” he asked at last. 
Comment was impossible. What could one say ? 

I want two thousand pounds.” 

Francis had lost his late fire, and he sat rather 
limply in his chair, his hands still at last. 

Very well, will you wait a minute until I get 
my cheque book ? ” Remi got up and went out of ^ 
the room. 1 

When he had gone Francis wiped his face with his ' 
handkerchief. It had been worse than he expected 
it to be, and there was a leaden feeling at his heart. ^ 
If de Limay had raged and called him names, it I 

would have been easier, but he had hardly shown ( 

surprise. He had been insultingly ready to take t 
Huntingdon’s conduct for granted ; the thought had ;j 
a barbed point that stuck deep in his flesh. He had 1 
278 I 


Blindfold 

bought Kate like a rather clever dealer, who knew 
how to keep a shut mouth. 

After a little the door opened again and Remi 
came back. He was holding a slip of paper in his 
hand which he held out to Francis. 

Now,” he said, sitting down. ‘‘ You have been 
doing most of the talking so far, and there are just 
one or two things I should like to say to you.” 

Fire ahead,” Francis said. He had put the 
cheque on the table and was looking at it fixedly. 

When I asked Kate to marry me to-day she re- 
fused.” De Limay spoke with a frigid intensity. 
‘‘ Her reason was, that you loved her so unselfishly 
and truly that she could never betray you, as it were, 
by leaving you without her.” 

Francis moved, got up, and then sat down again. 

Let me go on.” Remi held out his hand. “ You 
represent so much to her as that. When you began 
to talk to me to-night I had to let you go through 
with it, but I intended to tell you that, with or with- 
out your help, I was going to marry her, even if it 
took me a long time. What you suggested ” — ^he 
made a gesture of disgust — I do not want to speak 
of, chiefly for her sake ; as for my own, I had no 
illusions to lose. I have always regarded you as a 
blackguard. You named your own price, and it 
saved me a great deal of trouble.” 

Huntingdon was leaning his head on his hands, 
and did not stir or reply. 

‘‘We are agreed that you will make it easy for Kate 
to come to me without having to suffer. You must 
do your part decently, Huntingdon, and release her 
from the bondage you have laid on her. A few words 
from you would make it simple.” 

279 


Blindfold 

Still Francis did not speak, but sat very quietly 
as though he might or might not have heard. 

I want her to be happy.” Remi’s voice rang 
differently, and lost some of its coldness. What 
she has given to you in her loyalty is beyond any- 
thing I can say. You asked me not to let her know 
of this,” — he indicated the cheque. ‘‘ I shall never 
let her know.” 

“ Thank you for that,” Francis said, without 
moving. 

She must be free of you,” de Limay went on 
emphatically. “ I think you will see that. If you 
do not, I certainly shall keep her free of you.” That 
he did not expect any honest dealing from Francis 
was perfectly clear. 

Everything which had to be said had been said 
between them, and Remi moved impatiently in his 
chair. ‘‘ If you would say something to her to-night, 
just to show that you are satisfied, I should be grate- 
ful,” he added. ‘‘ She knew that I was to speak to 
you about it, and had very little hope that I should 
succeed. Tell her, when we go out to the garden, 
that you do not object.” 

Huntingdon straightened himself suddenly, and 
looked at Remi across the table. There was an old 
look in his eyes, and he smiled a secret smile, as 
though amused by a distant memory. He had, in 
fact, been thinking of something which happened ages 
ago, and the recollection of the drawing-room at 
Clanmore with the davenport, where Laurie used to 
write in spite of the fact that everything slid from it 
on to the floor, came back to him. He saw the dark 
tree outside the windows, with the unaccountable 
pathos of the light over the long fields, the stained 
280 


Blindfold 

and faded wall-paper and the black dress with bunchy 
sleeves that Laurie had worn, crefe trimmed because 
of her sister’s death. He had forced her to write a 
cheque for a hundred pounds, on condition that he 
never tried to get Kate back, and he could still re- 
member the relief he had felt over the bargain. 
Laurie had all but thrown the cheque in his face, 
and he had been amused to think that, in any case, 
he fully intended to leave the baby at Clanmore. 
For years he had not thought of the scene, but now 
it returned to him with a vividness that was sur- 
prising, and even violent. 

He never had tried to find Kate, because he did 
not in the least want to. She had come to him her- 
self through a series of chances, and he knew that in 
spite of the ugly scene just concluded, in spite of all 
the evidence against him, he loved her with a queer 
desperation, hardly accountable to himself. 

De Limay was standing impatiently, waiting for 
him to go out through the windows into the garden, 
but he did not hurry. The cheque lay on the table 
before his plate, and he took it up slowly, folding it 
into a spill, and then, with a hand which was not 
entirely steady, he held it out and lighted it at one 
of the candles. 

Remi watched him in dumb surprise, as the curled 
ashes fell on the table. 

“ You aren’t going back on everything ? ” he said 
abruptly. 

“ No,” Francis said, turning to the long window 
and walking out, and he said no more. 

Kate was sitting under the trees by a table with a 
small shaded lamp by her side, and when the two men 
281 


Blindfold 

walked towards her her heart beat painfully. They 
were ominously silent, but just as they joined her 
Francis put his arm on Remi’s shoulder, with an air 
of bonhomie. 

“ We have come to terms with X,” he said, in his 
old, careless way. ‘‘ It took some doing, Kate.” 

‘‘ Your father means that he has agreed — at least 
I think he has,” Remi said rather awkwardly. Isn’t 
that what you mean, Huntingdon ? ” 

You are right as ever.” Francis sat down. ‘‘ Give 
me some cold coffee, like a good daughter. You and 
Remi are going to make me very happy,” he con- 
tinued. I look forward to the future because 
I’m tired.” His voice sounded weary, but he laughed 
in spite of it. “ Remi has offered me a home and a 
welcome, a resting-place for my old age. Could 
anything be better ? Was there ever a more generous 
thought ? ” 

De Limay was sitting beside Kate, and he took 
her hands. As you wish it,” he said. 

‘‘ Of course I wish it.” She got up and put her arms 
round her father’s neck. Francis, you are really 
satisfied, and you mean that you won’t forsake me ? ” 

‘‘ I shall never be very far away from you,” he said, 
holding her hands in his. “ I think that is the 
truth.” 

Remi got up and walked away. Francis was doing 
things in the most unexpected fashion, but he was 
doing them well. It was better to have a clear 
course. 

And you will be happy with your monster of 
all the virtues ? ” Francis went on, when Remi had 
left them alone. “ I think you wiU. He is a good 
fellow, Kate.” 


282 


Blindfold 

‘‘ And you will like him — really like him ? ” she 
urged. 

‘‘ Oh, very much.” 

‘‘ And you meant it, Francis, didn’t you, when 
you said that you would come to us ? ” 

“ Of course I did. I shall borrow from Remi at 
stated intervals, and use your house as my hotel. 
How could I let you go right away from me ? ” 

‘‘ I know you couldn’t,” she sat on the bench with 
her face against his, ‘‘ and I love you none the less 
because I love Remi,” she added. You do love me, 
don’t you, Francis ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” he said, in a curious voice, better than I 
expected to love anyone in this world.” 

She stretched out her arms to the night. I 
couldn’t believe that anyone could be as happy as I 
am,” she said. ‘‘ It has made me selfish, for you are 
tired out, but rich,” she laughed. We have both 
got all we want. One doesn’t break the bank every 
day.” 

‘‘ Perhaps it’s as well,” he got up and put down his 
cup, it might lose its rather peculiar attraction.” 

Are you going to bed ? ” she asked. I think 
I will sit up a little and talk to Remi.” 

And I shall take a turn along the rocks.” He 
caught her by the shoulders and stooped to kiss her 
raised face. I’m not quite used to it all yet.” 

But you will be by to-morrow,” she said gaily. 

To-morrow ? Yes, I expect I shall.” He let her 
go, and walked through the shadows, waiting only 
until he saw Remi go back to where she was standing, 
and then he turned quickly as though he had 
something important still to do that called him 
urgently and could not wait. 


chapter 2 4 

F rancis climbed the road quickly for a man who 
was tired, and stood for a minute looking back 
towards Maurennes. The night was clear, and far away 
a light from a ship bound for the port of Bordeaux was 
visible long before the ship itself came within sight. 
Away to the west the black rocks stood out contrast- 
ing with the dream colour of the sea. From where he 
stood he could still see Trianon, the delicate balus- 
trade and the graceful stone baskets, pearly white 
against the toneless blue, but he did not wait, and 
going on more slowly he turned the corner of the 
point, and the world that he knew was left behind. 

The colour faded quickly and the ghostly white 
path lay mistily before him, so that he could not see 
the reach in front at all clearly, and to his left, the 
heaped green of the woods slept in a motionless 
peace. The whole suggestion of the place was in- 
tensely quiet, and the far-off barking of a dog was all 
that broke the stillness, and though his feet dragged a 
little he went on, like a man who follows a fixed idea. 

He passed onwards through a belt of wood, where 
the darkness was very intense, and when he emerged 
on the farther side, the night had encroached percep- 
tibly, and the stars were strong and clear overhead 
as he looked up at them. 


Blindfold 

The dark silhouette of a small church stood for- 
lornly on the point towards which he seemed to be 
making, and as he passed the door he paused, as though 
undecided whether or not he might go in. 

As a kind of compromise with some fugitive fancy 
which had caught him, he pushed the door open and 
stood on the threshold. 

He had never had any use for these things, so what 
good was it to go in now ? It meant nothing except 
an emotional feeling that was not very genuine, and 
yet, as he stood there looking in, something hidden 
in the darkness spoke directly to his own heart. 
He could not possibly have told what it was, but 
it touched and softened him, and as he drew back 
and stood again in the windless starry night he 
shivered a little. 

Catholics believed in the intercession of saints, 
men and women who had been close to life, and some 
of them even celebrated sinners. It did not very 
much matter in any case. Francis had had neither 
time nor inclination, for such questions, and Georges 
de Vrie’s sincere conviction, which he did not always 
put into practice, had been the subject of endless 
entertainment to Huntingdon in the past. 

It was easier to think of anything, rather than his 
late interview with Remi de Limay. Youth had con- 
quered — that was one way of putting it — and Remi 
had not been an unfair adversary. He had expected 
nothing of Francis, so that he had not been surprised. 
He walked on again. It is not altogether consoling 
to find that when you have stooped to a rather des- 
picable act you are met with the indifference of one 
who knows you too well to expect anything else from 
you. 


285 


Blindfold 

Francis sat down on a rock, the sea hissing softly 
below him, and his thoughts ran on idly, once he turned 
them away from de Limay. 

It was extraordinary how he had been transported 
into the past, and how close Laurie had stood to him 
in her old-fashioned dress with its high sleeves and 
full skirts. He had remarked her beauty at the time, 
and yet they had always been foes. 

For a second he wished that he could let her know 
that he had respected her. She was a lonely woman, 
middle-aged and forgotten, living a narrow life, de- 
prived of Kate and her last poor shred of romance. 
It was hard on Laurie. . . . But what he really 
wanted to do was to think of Kate. 

He felt a hot madness creep up behind his strained 
eyes. Remi was to possess that beautiful girl, with 
her freshness of May-time, and he hated Remi de 
Limay. She would be his, and the real grief the 
thought inspired took Francis far away from every- 
thing else, though he was aware all the time that 
there were other things to think of, and he wondered 
how long people usually remembered anything, or 
anyone. His own powers of forgetting easily and 
letting everything slip into a kind of lake of oblivion 
were abnormally strong. Some people could remem- 
ber personal insults and slights ; others, who were 
finer than that, remembered only the good ; but to 
be able to recall things as they really were was a 
human impossibility. Better so. It gave every one a 
chance eventually, and there was anodyne for the 
suffering heart. 

Francis laughed and flung himself face downwards 
on the short, dry grass, warm still from the dead day’s 
hot sunshine. He was thinking of the long bright 
286 


Blindfold 

lines of light burning in the streets of Paris. He 
could forget Kate in thinking of that, and quite 
deliberately he walked there again, as a ghost might 
walk. It was all in his memory, with a clearness 
that even actuality might have lacked. He read the 
blue signs at the street corners, and stood in the 
traffic of the Place de I’Opera without a shadow on 
his soul, or a single care in his heart. It was almost 
as though the cup of youth had been filled once more 
and lifted to his lips, and a kind of immortal joy 
possessed him. How many men had loved a woman 
as he had loved Paris — ^her whiteness and her 
glitter, her simplicity known to so few, and her 
sophistication known to the world ? But he had 
found her secret heart. He had lost himself, in the 
accepted sense of the word, for her sake, and because 
she had inoculated him with madness. 

If you looked back seriously at such a life as his, 
it had all been madness, and the self in him which 
might have loved Laurie, if only he had known enough 
of that self, died years and years ago, and the other 
self had done pretty much what he liked. It was 
odd how Laurie haunted him as he sat on the rock 
looking down at the sea below. They had both been 
young together, and the link of youth is a strong one. 
Middle-age brings with it either caution or reckless- 
ness in a degree which youth can never understand, 
and yet youth always has the best of it. 

He bent forward heavily, and stared downwards. 
Time was flowing past silently, and though it did 
not much matter, there was nothing very much to 
be gained by going on with indefinite thoughts. 

Perhaps the feeling which had touched him as he 
stood on the threshold of the dark, silent church 
287 


Blindfold 

might come back again ; perhaps one of the saints 
to whom simple folk prayed might extend a hand of 
charity towards a man who for years had never 
bothered to offer up a prayer. If so, it might be less 
lonely than one expected it to be. . . . Life was 
lonely, he knew that, and the stars over his head 
looked hopelessly isolated and far away. 

And he had done nothing decently. 

If Kate knew what he had been capable of, she 
would hide her face. 

In a moment of desperation he tried to remember 
a single act of his life which would bear close scrutiny, 
and failed. Even his generosity to beggars had been 
because he wanted to bribe Fate, and there was a 
general idea that if you gave to cripples or children 
with ragged bunches of flowers, it brought you luck. 
That was all. 

Once again he looked round very slowly, and took 
a deep breath as he dropped from the point of rock 
into the sea. ‘‘ I wish it had been the Seine,” he 
said aloud, and then he swam outwards, with the 
heavy stroke of a man who is tired, to death. 


288 


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